One couldn’t visualize him clearly, of course, he was just a vague tweed shape, a nice voice, and quiet laughter. His age was the first problem, perhaps, to be solved, and for that there was Mrs. Pilton’s evidence. Mrs. Pilton had been with the family twenty years, she said, or more. Then twenty years ago he must have been a child, which meant that he couldn’t be much more than thirty now. Nor much less, either, because he was out in the world somewhere on his own. They hadn’t seen much of him here since he was grown, Mrs. Pilton said. George was older. How old was George?

She was sure that if Mr. Shenstone returned—it had begun almost to be when he returned—he not only would not mind that she had been reading his books, but would urge her to enjoy them all, as quickly as possible, because that was what books like his were for. Most of them were well worn, and looked very traveled. There were odd stains and injuries to their bindings. Some of them appeared to have been chewed by mice or beetles. Some had got wet. It was hardly possible for books which had remained all their lives at Nuns Farthing to look like that, unless he had slung them round the garden and dropped them in the bath.

If he came back, that would be one of the first questions she would ask him—What have you done to your poor books? Perhaps if he came back she would learn why Kim was discolored with what looked like strong tea, and why The Gods of Pegana was freckled with something like mildew, and why the green cloth covers of Jungle Peace were minutely gnawed in patches till each separate thread stood bare of varnish.

Being one of the family, he would doubtless show her round the property a bit—if he came back—and perhaps even reminisce of his boyhood here in the house. They would have tea under the big tree on the lawn and she would pour out for him from the old silver service which his mother must have used when he was a child. And miraculously Father and Aunt Effie would always be occupied, so that she had him entirely to herself....

At this point the game would sort of bog down in his inevitable formlessness. If he came back—yes. But where would he come back from? What did he do while he was away? Where was he now? What would he look like? What did his brother call him?

Treasure hunt.