“But now, here came another person. Jane recognized him. It was Mr. Buckle, the oldest inhabitant. He was ninety-nine years old and soon he would be one hundred. A century! Jane was ten. He was almost ten times ten. Phew! He was a veteran of the Civil War.”
“So Jane went on. ‘Middle Moffat, that’s me, is not mysterious. The middle of the night is.’ ‘The mysterious middle Moffat is not mysterious,’ said the oldest inhabitant thoughtfully. ‘No,’ agreed Jane, laughing politely. Mr. Buckle put his finger on the side of his nose the way Hawkshaw, the detective, did in the pictures, and he beamed down at her.”