The Town Traveller

by

George Gissing

CONTENTS

 I MR. GAMMON BREAKFASTS IN BED II A MISSING UNCLE III THE CHINA SHOP IV POLLY AND MR. PARISH V A NONDESCRIPT VI THE HEAD WAITER AT CHAFFEY'S VII POLLY'S WRATH VIII MR. GAMMON'S RESOLVE IX POLLY'S DEFIANCE X THE STORMING OF THE FORT XI THE NOSE OF THE TREFOYLES XII POLLY CONDESCENDS XIII GAMMON THE CRAFTY XIV MR. PARISH PURSUES A BROUGHAM XV THE NAME OF GILDERSLEEVE XVI AN ALLY IN THE QUEST XVII POLLY SHOWS WEAKNESS XVIII LORD POLPERRO'S REPRESENTATIVE XIX NOT IN THE SECRET XX THE HUSBAND'S RETURN XXI HIS LORDSHIP'S WILL XXII NEW YEAR'S EVE XXIII HIS LORDSHIP RETIRES XXIV THE TRAVELLER'S FICKLENESS AND FRAUD XXV THE MISSING WORD XXVI A DOUBLE EVENT XXVII THE TRAVELLER AT REST

CHAPTER I

MR. GAMMON BREAKFASTS IN BED

Moggie, the general, knocked at Mr. Gammon's door, and was answered bya sleepy "Hallo?"

"Mrs. Bubb wants to know if you know what time it is, sir? 'Cos it'shalf-past eight an' more. "

"All right!" sounded cheerfully from within. "Any letters for me?"

"Yes, sir; a 'eap. "

"Bring 'em up, and put 'em under the door. And tell Mrs. Bubb I'll havebreakfast in bed; you can put it down outside and shout. And I say, Moggie, ask somebody to run across and get me a 'Police News' and'Clippings' and 'The Kennel'--understand? Two eggs, Moggie, and threerashers, toasted crisp--understand?"

As the girl turned to descend a voice called to her from another roomon the same floor, a voice very distinctly feminine, rather shrill, anda trifle imperative. 

"Moggie, I want my hot water-sharp!"

"It ain't nine yet, miss, " answered Moggie in a tone of remonstrance. 

"I know that--none of your cheek! If you come up here hollering atpeople's doors, how can anyone sleep? Bring the hot water at once, andmind it _is_ hot. "

"You'll have to wait till it _gits_ 'ot, miss. "

"_Shall_ I? If it wasn't too much trouble I'd come out and smack yourface for you, you dirty little wretch!"

The servant--she was about sixteen, and no dirtier than became herposition--scampered down the stairs, burst into the cellar kitchen, andin a high, tearful wail complained to her mistress of the indignity shehad suffered. There was no living in the house with that Miss Sparkes, who treated everybody like dirt under her feet. Smack her face, wouldshe? What next? And all because she said the water would have to be'_otted_. And Mr. Gammon wanted his breakfast in bed, and--and--why, there now, it had all been drove out of her mind by that Miss Sparkes. 

Mrs. Bubb, the landlady, was frying some sausages for her first-floorlodgers; as usual at this hour she wore (presumably over some invisibleclothing) a large shawl and a petticoat, her thin hair, black streakedwith grey, knotted and pinned into a ball on the top of her head. Hereand there about the kitchen ran four children, who were snatching asort of picnic breakfast whilst they made ready for school. They lookedhealthy enough, and gabbled, laughed, sang, without heed to the elderfolk. Their mother, healthy too, and with no ill-natured face-a slow, dull, sluggishly-mirthful woman of a common London type-heard Moggieout, and shook up the sausages before replying. 

"Never you mind Miss Sparkes; I'll give her a talkin' to when she comesdown. What was it as Mr. Gammon wanted? Breakfast in bed? And whatelse? I never see such a girl for forgetting!"

"Well, didn't I tell you as my 'ead had never closed the top!" urgedMoggie in plaintive key. "How can I 'elp myself?"

"Here, take them letters up to him, and ask again; and if Miss Sparkessays anything don't give her no answer--see? Billy, fill the bigkettle, and put it on before you go. Sally, you ain't a-goin' to schoolwithout brushin' your 'air? Do see after your sister, Janey, an' don'tlet her look such a slap-cabbage. Beetrice, stop that 'ollerin'; itfair mismerizes me!"

Having silently thrust five letters under Mr. Gammon's door, Moggiegave a very soft tap, and half whispered a request that the lodgerwould repeat his orders. Mr. Gammon did so with perfect good humour. Assoon as his voice had ceased that of Miss Sparkes sounded from theneighbouring bedroom. 

"Is that the water?"

For the pleasure of the thing Moggie stood to listen, an angry grin onher flushed face. 

"Moggie!--I'll give that little beast what for! Are you there?"

The girl made a quick motion with both her hands as if clawing anenemy's face, then coughed loudly, and went away with a sound ofstamping on the thinly-carpeted stairs. One minute later Miss Sparkes'door opened and Miss Sparkes herself rushed forth--a startling visionof wild auburn hair about a warm complexion, and a small, brisk figuregirded in a flowery dressing-gown. She called at the full pitch of hervoice for Mrs. Bubb. 

"Do you hear me? Mrs. Bubb, have the kindness to send me up my hotwater immejately! This moment, if you please!"

There came an answer, but not from the landlady. It sounded so near toMiss Sparkes that she sprang back into her room. 

"Patience, Polly! All in good time, my dear. Wrong foot out of bed thismorning?"

Her door slammed, and there followed a lazy laugh from Mr. Gammon'schamber. 

In due time the can of hot water was brought up, and soon after it camea tray for Mr. Gammon, on which, together with his breakfast, lay thethree newspapers he had bespoken. Polly Sparkes throughout herleisurely toilet was moved to irritation and curiosity by the sound offrequent laughter on the other side of the party wall--uproariouspeals, long chucklings in a falsetto key, staccato bursts of mirth. 

"That is the comic stuff in 'Clippings, '" she said to herself with aninvoluntary grin. "What a fool he is! And why's he staying in bed thismorning? Got his holiday, I suppose. I'd make better use of it thanthat. "

She came forth presently in such light and easy costume as befitted ayoung lady of much leisure on a hot morning of June. Meaning to pass anhour or two in quarrelling with Mrs. Bubb she had arrayed herself thusearly with more care than usual, that her colours and perfumes mightthrow contempt upon the draggle-tailed landlady, whom, by the by, shehad known since her childhood. On the landing, where she paused for amoment, she hummed an air, with the foreseen result that Mr. Gammoncalled out to her. 

"Polly!"

She vouchsafed no answer. 

"Miss Sparkes!"

"Well?"

"Will you come with me to see my bow-wows this fine day?"

"No, Mr. Gammon, I certainly will not!"

"Thank you, Polly, I felt a bit afraid you might say yes. "

The tone was not offensive, whatever the words might be, and the laughthat came after would have softened any repartee, with its undernote ofgood humour and harmless gaiety. Biting her lips to preserve thedignity of silence, Polly passed downstairs. Sunshine through a landingwindow illumined the dust floating thickly about the staircase andheated the familiar blend of lodging-house smells--the closeness ofsmall rooms that are never cleansed, the dry rot of wall-paper, plaster, and old wood, the fustiness of clogged carpets trodden thin, the ever-rising vapours from a sluttish kitchen. As Moggie happened tobe wiping down the front steps the door stood open, affording a glimpseof trams and omnibuses, cabs and carts, with pedestrians bobbing pastin endless variety--the life of Kennington Road--all dust and sweatunder a glaring summer sun. To Miss Sparkes a cheery and invitingspectacle--for the whole day was before her, to lounge or ramble untilthe hour which summoned her to the agreeable business of sellingprogrammes at a fashionable theatre. The employment was precarious;even with luck in the way of tips it meant nothing very brilliant; butsomething had happened lately which made Polly indifferent to this viewof the matter. She had a secret, and enjoyed it all the more because itenabled her to excite not envy alone, but dark suspicions in the peoplewho observed her. 

Mrs. Bubb, for instance--who so far presumed upon old acquaintance asto ask blunt questions, and offer homely advice--plainly thought shewas going astray. It amused Polly to encourage this misconception, andto take offence on every opportunity. As she went down into the kitchenshe fingered a gold watch-chain that hung from her blouse to a littlepocket at her waist. Mrs. Bubb would spy it at once, and in course ofthe quarrel about this morning's hot water would be sure to allude toit. 

It turned out one of the finest frays Polly had ever enjoyed, and wasstill rich in possibilities when, at something past eleven, the kitchendoor suddenly opened and there entered Mr. Gammon. 

CHAPTER II

A MISSING UNCLE

He glanced at Mrs. Bubb, at the disorderly remnants of breakfast on thelong deal table, then at Polly, whose face was crimson with the joy ofcombat. 

"Don't let me interrupt you, ladies. Blaze away! if I may so expressmyself. It does a man good to see such energy on a warm morning. "

"I've said all I'm a-goin' to say, " exclaimed Mrs. Bubb, as she moppedher forehead with a greasy apron. "I've warned her, that's all, and Imean her well, little as she deserves it. Now, you, Moggie, don't standgahpin' there git them breakfast things washed up, can't you? It'll betea time agin before the beds is made. And what's come to _you_ thismorning?"

She addressed Mr. Gammon, who had seated himself on a corner of thetable, as if to watch and listen. He was a short, thick-set man withdark, wiry hair roughened into innumerable curls, and similar whiskersending in a clean razor-line halfway down the cheek. His eyes were blueand had a wondering innocence, which seemed partly the result offacetious affectation, as also was the peculiar curve of his lips, everready for joke or laughter. Yet the broad, mobile countenance had linesof shrewdness and of strength, plain enough whenever it relapsed intogravity, and the rude shaping of jaw and chin might have warned anyonedisposed to take advantage of the man's good nature. He wore a suit ofcoarse tweed, a brown bowler hat, a blue cotton shirt with white stockand horseshoe pin, rough brown leggings, tan boots, and in his hand wasa dog-whip. This costume signified that Mr. Gammon felt at leisure, contrasting as strongly as possible with the garb in which he was wontto go about his ordinary business--that of commercial traveller. He hada liking for dogs, and kept a number of them in the back premises of aninn at Dulwich, whither he usually repaired on Sundays. When atDulwich, Mr. Gammon fancied himself in completely rural seclusion; itseemed to him that he had shaken off the dust of cities, that he wasfar from the clamour of the crowd, amid peace and simplicity; hence hisrustic attire, in which he was fond of being photographed with dogsabout him. A true-born child of town, he would have found the realcountry quite unendurable; in his doggy rambles about Dulwich he alwayspreferred a northerly direction, and was never so happy as when sittingin the inn-parlour amid a group of friends whose voices rang the purestCockney. Even in his business he disliked engagements which took himfar from London; his "speciality" (as he would have said) was towntravel, and few men had had more varied experience in that region ofenterprise. 

"I'm going to have a look at the bow-wows, " he replied to Mrs. Bubb. "Polly won't come with me; unkind of her, ain't it?"

"Mr. Gammon, " remarked the young lady with a severe glance, "I'll thankyou not to be so familiar with my name. If you don't know any better, let me tell you it's very ungentlemanly. "

He rose, doffed his hat, bowed profoundly, and begged her pardon, inacknowledgment of which Polly gave a toss of the head. Miss Sparkes wasneither beautiful nor stately, but her appearance had the sort ofdistinction which corresponds to these qualities in the society ofKennington Road; she filled an appreciable space in the eyes of Mr. Gammon; her abundance of auburn hair, her high colour, her full lipsand excellent teeth, her finely-developed bust, and the freedom of herposes (which always appeared to challenge admiration and anticipateimpertinence) had their effectiveness against a kitchen background, anddid not entirely lose it when she flitted about the stalls at thetheatre selling programmes. She was but two-and-twenty. Mr. Gammon hadreached his fortieth year. In general his tone of intimacy passedwithout rebuke; at moments it had seemed not unacceptable. But Polly'stemper was notoriously uncertain, and her frankness never left peoplein doubt as to the prevailing mood. 

"Would you like a little ball-pup. Miss Sparkes?" he pursued in aconciliatory tone. "A lovely little button-ear? There's a new littersay the word, and I'll bring you one. "

"Thank you. I don't care for dogs. "

"No? But I'm sure you would if you kept one. Now, I have a cobby littlefox terrier--just the dog for a lady. No? Or a sweet littleblack-and-tan--just turning fifteen pounds, with a lovely neck andkissing spots on both cheeks. I wouldn't offer her to everybody. "

"Very good of you, " replied Miss Sparkes contemptuously. 

"Why ain't you goin' to business?" asked the landlady. 

"I'll tell you. We had a little difference of opinion yesterday. Thegovernors have been disappointed about a new line in the fancy leather;it wouldn't go, and I told them the reason, but that wasn't goodenough. They hinted that it was my fault. Of course, I said nothing; Inever do in such cases. But--this morning I had breakfast in bed. "

He spoke with eyes half closed and an odd vibration of the upper lip, then broke into a laugh. 

"You're an independent party, you are, " said Mrs. Bubb, eyeing him withadmiration. 

"It was always more than I could do to stand a hint of that kind. Notso long ago I used to lose my temper, but I've taken pattern byPolly--I mean Miss Sparkes--and now I do it quietly. That remindsme"--his look changed to seriousness--"do you know anyone of the nameof Quodling?"

Polly--to whom he spoke--answered with a dry negative. 

"Sure? Try and think if you ever heard your uncle speak of the name. "

The girl's eyes fell as if, for some reason, she felt a momentaryembarrassment. It passed, but in replying she looked away from Mr. Gammon. 

"Quodling? Never heard it--why?"

"Why, there is a man called Quodling who might be your uncle's twinbrother--he looks so like him. I caught sight of him in the City, andtracked him till I got to know his place of business and his name. Fora minute or two I thought I'd found your uncle; I really did. Gosh! Isaid to myself, there's Clover at last! I wonder I didn't pin him likea bull terrier. But, as you know, I'm cautious--that's how I've made myfortune, Polly. "

Miss Sparkes neither observed the joke nor resented the name; she waslistening with a preoccupied air. 

"You'll never find _him_, " said Mrs. Bubb, shaking her head. 

"Don't be so sure of that. I shan't lose sight of this man Quodling. It's the strangest likeness I ever saw, and I shan't be satisfied tillI've got to know if he has any connexion with the name of Clover. Itain't easy to get at, but I'll manage it somehow. Now, if I had Pollyto help me--I mean Miss Sparkes--"

With a muttering of impatience the girl rose; in the same moment shedrew from her belt a gold watch, and deliberately consulted it. Observing this Mrs. Bubb looked towards Mr. Gammon, who, alsoobservant, returned the glance. 

"I shan't want dinner, " Polly remarked in an off-hand way as she movedtowards the door. 

"Going to see Mrs. Clover?" Gammon inquired. 

"I'm sick of going there. It's always the same talk. "

"Wait till _your_ 'usband runs away from you and stays away for fiveyears, " said Mrs. Bubb with a renewal of anger, "and then see what_you_ find to talk about. "

Polly laughed and went away humming. 

"If it wasn't that I feel afraid for her, " continued Mrs. Bubb in alower voice, "I'd give that young woman notice to quit. Her cheek'sgetting past everything. Did you see her gold watch and chain?"

"Yes, I did; where does it come from?"

"That's more than _I_ can tell you, Mr. Gammon. I don't want to thinkill of the girl, but there's jolly queer goin's-on. And she's so brazenabout it! I don't know what to think. "

Gammon knitted his brows and gazed round the kitchen. 

"I think Polly's straight, " he observed at length. "I don't seem tonotice anything wrong with her except her cheek and temper. She'll haveto be taken down a peg one of these days, but I don't envy the manthat'll have the job. It won't be me, for certain, " he added with alaugh. 

Moggie came into the room, bringing a telegram. 

"For me?" said Gammon. "Just what I expected. " Reading, he broadenedhis visage into a grin of infinite satisfaction. "'Please explainabsence. Hope nothing wrong. ' How kind of them, ain't it! Yesterdaythey chucked me; now they're polite. Reply-paid too; very considerate. They shall have their reply. "

He laid the blank form on the table and wrote upon it in pencil, everyletter beautifully shaped in a first-rate commercial hand:

"Go to Bath and get your heads shaved. " "You ain't a-goin' to sendthat!" exclaimed Mrs. Bubb, when he had held the message to her forperusal. 

"It'll do them good. They're like Polly--want taking down a peg. "

Moggie ran off with the paper to the waiting boy, and Mr. Gammonlaughed for five minutes uproariously. 

"Would you like a little bull-pup, Mrs. Bubb? he asked at length. 

"Not me, Mr. Gammon. I've enough pups of my own, thank you all thesame. "

CHAPTER III

THE CHINA SHOP

Mr. Gammon took his way down Kennington Road, walking at a leisurelypace, smiting his leg with his doubled dog-whip, and looking about himwith his usual wideawake, contented air. He had in perfection the artof living for the moment, no art in his case, but a naturalcharacteristic, for which it never occurred to him to be grateful. Indeed, it is a common characteristic in the world to which Mr. Gammonbelonged. He and his like take what the heavens send them, grumbling orrejoicing, but never reflecting upon their place in the sum of things. To Mr. Gammon life was a wonderfully simple matter. He had his worriesand his desires, but so long as he suffered neither from headache norstomach-ache, these things interfered not at all with his enjoyment ofa fine morning. 

He was in no hurry to make for Dulwich; as he walked along his thoughtsbegan to turn in a different direction, and on reaching the end ofUpper Kennington Lane he settled the matter by striking towardsVauxhall Station. A short railway journey and another pleasant saunterbrought him to a street off Battersea Park Road, and to a china shop, over which stood the name of Clover. 

In the window hung a card with an inscription in bold letters: "Glass, china, and every kind of fashionable ornament for the table for hire onmoderate terms. " Mr. Gammon read this with an appreciative smile, which, accompanied by a nod, became a greeting to Mrs. Clover, who wasaware of him from within the shop. He entered. 

"How does it go?"

"Two teas and a supper yesterday. A wedding breakfast this morning. "

"Bravo! What did I tell you? You'll want a bigger place before the endof the year. "

The shop was well stocked, the window well laid out; everythingindicated a flourishing, though as yet a small, business. Mrs. Clover, a neat, comely, and active woman, with a complexion as clear as that ofher own best china, chatted vivaciously with the visitor, whilst shesuperintended the unpacking of a couple of crates by a muscular youthand a young lady (to use the technical term), her shop assistant. 

"Why are you off to-day?" she inquired presently, after moving to thedoorway for more private talk. 

Mr. Gammon made his explanation with spirit and humour. 

"You're a queer man, if ever there was one, " Mrs. Clover remarked afterwatching him for a moment and averting her eyes as soon as they weremet by his. "You know your own business best, but I should havethought--"

It was a habit of hers to imply a weighty opinion by suddenly breakingoff, a form of speech known to the grammarians by a name which wouldhave astonished Mrs. Clover. Few women of her class are prone to thiskind of emphasis. Her friendly manner had a quietness, a reserve in itscordiality, which suited well with the frank, pleasant features of amatron not yet past her prime. 

"It's all right, " he replied, more submissively than he was wont tospeak. "I shall do better next time; I'm looking out for a permanency. "

"So you have been for ten years, to my knowledge. "

They laughed together. At this point came an interruption in the shapeof a customer who drove up in a hansom: a loudly-dressed woman, who, onentering the shop, conversed with Mrs. Clover in the lowest possiblevoice, and presently returned to her vehicle with uneasy glances leftand right. Mr. Gammon, who had walked for some twenty yards, saunteredback to the shop, and his friend met him on the threshold. 

"That's the sort, " she whispered with a merry eye. "Eight-roomed 'ousenear Queen's Road Station. Wants things for an at 'ome--teaspoons aswell--couldn't I make it ninepence the two dozen! That's the kind ofplace where there'll be breakages. But they pay well, the breakages do. "

"Well, I won't keep you now, " said Gammon. "I'm going to have a peep atthe bow-wows. Could I look in after closing?"

Mrs. Clover turned her head away, pretending to observe the muscularyouth within. 

"Fact is, " he pursued, "I want to speak to you about Polly. "

"What about her?"

"Nothing much. I'll tell you this evening. "

Without more words he nodded and went off. Mrs. Clover stood for amoment with an absent expression on her comely face, then turned intothe shop and gave the young man in shirt-sleeves a bit of her mindabout the time he was taking over his work. 

She was anything but a bad-tempered woman. Her rating had no malice init, and only signified that she could not endure laziness. 

"Hot, is it? Of course it's hot. What do you expect in June? You don'tmind the heat when you're playing cricket, I know. "

"No, mum, " replied the young giant with a grin. 

"How many runs did you make last Saturday?"

"Fifty-three, mum, and caught out. "

"Then don't go talking to me about the heat. Finish that job and runoff with this filter to Mrs. Gubbins's. "

Her life had not lacked variety. Married at eighteen, after a month'scourtship, to a man of whom she knew next to nothing, she lived for atime in Liverpool, where her husband--older by ten years--pursuedvarious callings in the neighbourhood of the docks. After the birth ofher only child, a daughter, they migrated to Glasgow, and struggledwith great poverty for several years. This period was closed by thesudden disappearance of Mr. Clover. He did not actually desert his wifeand child; at regular intervals letters and money arrived from himaddressed to the care of Mrs. Clover's parents, who kept a china shopat Islington; beyond the postmarks, which indicated constant travel inEngland and abroad, these letters (always very affectionate) gave noinformation as to the writer's circumstances. When Mrs. Clover hadlived with her parents for about three years she was summoned by herhusband to Dulwich, where the man had somehow established himself as acab proprietor; he explained his wanderings as the result of mererestlessness, and with this cold comfort Mrs. Clover had to be content. By degrees they settled into a not unhappy life; the girl, Minnie, wasgrowing up, the business might have been worse, everything seemed topromise unbroken domestic tranquillity, when one fine day Mr. Cloverwas again missing. Again he sent letters and money, the former writtenin a strangely mingled mood of grief and hopefulness, the remittancevarying from half a sovereign to a ten-pound note. This time theletters were invariably posted in London, but in different districts. Clover declared that he was miserable away from home, and, withoutoffering any reason for his behaviour, promised that he would soonreturn. 

Six years had since elapsed. To afford herself occupation Mrs. Cloverwent into the glass and china business, assisted by her parents'experience, and by the lively interest of her friend Mr. Gammon. MinnieClover, a pretty and interesting girl, was now employed at Doulton'spotteries. All would have been well but for the harassing mystery thatdisturbed their lives. Clover's letters were still posted in London;money still came from him, sometimes in remittances of as much astwenty pounds. But handwriting and composition often suggested that thewriter was either ill or intoxicated. The latter seemed not unlikely, for Clover had always inclined to the bottle. His wife no longerdistressed herself. The first escapade she had forgiven; the secondestranged her. She had resolved, indeed, that if her husband did againpresent himself his home should not be under her roof. 

The shop closed at eight. At a quarter past the house-bell rang and asmall servant admitted Mr. Gammon, who came along the passage and intothe back parlour, where Mrs. Clover was wont to sit. As usual at thishour her daughter was present. Minnie sat reading; she rose for amoment to greet the visitor, spoke a word or two very modestly, evenshyly, and let her eyes fall again upon the book. Considering thewarmth of the day it was not unnatural that Mr. Gammon showed a veryred face, shining with moisture; but his decided hilarity, his tendencyto hum tunes and beat time with his feet, his noisy laughter andexpansive talk, could hardly be attributed to the same cause. Havingtaken a seat near Minnie he kept his look steadily fixed upon her, andevidently discoursed with a view of affording her amusement; notaltogether successfully it appeared, for the young girl--she was butseventeen--grew more and more timid, less and less able to murmurreplies. She was prettier than her mother had ever been, and spoke witha better accent. Her features suggested a more delicate physicalinheritance than Mrs. Clover's comeliness could account for. As amatter of fact she had her father's best traits, though Mrs. Gloverfrequently thanked goodness that in character she by no means resembledhim. 

Mr. Gammon was in the midst of a vivid description of a rat hunt, inwhich a young terrier had displayed astonishing mettle, when hishostess abruptly interposed. 

"Minnie, I wish you'd put your hat on and run round to Mrs. Walker'sfor me. I'll give you a message when you're ready. "

Very willingly the girl rose and left the room. Mr. Gammon, whosecountenance had fallen, turned to the mother with jocose remonstrance. 

"Now I call that too bad. What did you want to go sending her away for?"

"What does it matter?" was Mrs. Clover's reply, utteredgood-humouredly, but with some impatience. "The child doesn't want tohear about rats and terriers. "

"Child? I don't call her a child. Besides, you'd only to give me a hintto talk of something else. " He leaned forward, and softened his voiceto a note of earnest entreaty. "She won't be long, will she?"

"Oh, I dare say not!"

A light tap at the door called Mrs. Clover away. She whispered outsidewith Minnie and returned smiling. 

"Have you told her to be quick?"

Mrs. Clover did not answer the question. Sitting with her arms on theround table she looked Mr. Gammon steadily in the face, and said withdecision:

"Never you come here again after you've been to Dulwich!"

"Why not?"

"Never mind. I don't want to have to speak plainer. If ever I have to--"

Mrs. Clover made her great effect of the pregnant pause. The listener, who had sobered wonderfully, sat gazing at her, his blue eyes comicallyrueful. 

"She isn't coming back at all?" fell from his lips. 

"Of course she isn't. "

"Well, I'm blest if I thought you could be so unkind, Mrs. Clover. "

She was silent for three ticks of the clock, an odd hardness havingcome over her face, then, flushing just a little, as if after aneffort, she smiled again, and spoke in her ordinary tone. 

"What had you to say about Polly?"

"Polly?--Polly be hanged! I half believe Polly's no better than sheshould be. "

The flush on Mrs. Clover's face deepened and she spoke severely. 

"What do you mean by saying such things?"

"I didn't meant to, " exclaimed Gammon, with hasty penitence. "Lookhere, I really didn't; but you put me out. She had some presents givenher, that's all. "

"I know it, " said Mrs. Clover. "She's been here to-day--called thisafternoon. "

"Polly did?"

"Yes, and behaved very badly too. I don't know what's coming to thegirl. If I had a temper like that I'd--"

What Mrs. Clover would do remained conjectural. 

"It's a good thing, " remarked the other, laughing. "Trust Polly to takecare of herself. She cheeked you, did she?"

They discussed Miss Sparkes very thoroughly. There had been a battleroyal in the afternoon, for the girl came only to "show off" and makeherself generally offensive. Mrs. Clover desired to be friendly withher sister's daughter, but would stand no "cheek, " and had said so. 

"Polly's all right, " remarked Mr. Gammon finally. "Don't you fret abouther. She ain't that kind. I know 'em. "

"Then why did you say just now--"

"Because you riled me, sending Minnie away. "

Again Mrs. Clover reflected, and again she looked her friend steadilyin the face. 

"Why did you want her to stay?"

Mr. Gammon's heated visage glowed with incredible fervour. He shruggedhis shoulders, shuffled his feet, and at length burst out with:

"Well, I should think you know. It isn't the first time I've showed it, I should think. "

"Then I'm very sorry. I'm real sorry. "

The words fell gently, and one might have thought that Mrs. Clover wassoftening the rejection of a tender proposal made to herself. 

"You mean it's no good?" said the man. 

"Not the least, not a bit. And never could be. "

Mr. Gammon nodded several times, as if calculating the force of theblow, and nerving himself to bear it. 

"Well, if you say it, " he replied at length, "I suppose it's afact--but I call it hard lines. Ever since I was old enough to think ofmarrying I've been looking out for the right girl--always looking out, and now I thought I'd found her. Hanged if it isn't hard lines! I couldhave married scores--scores; but do you suppose I'd have a girl thatshowed she was only waiting for me to say the word? Not me! That's whattook me in Minnie. She's the first of that kind I ever knew--the onlyone. But, I say, do you mean you won't let me try? You surely don'tmean that, Mrs. Clover?"

"Yes, I do. I mean just that, Mr. Gammon. "

"Why? Because I haven't got a permanency?"

"Oh, no. "

"Because I--because I go to Dulwich?"

"No. "

"Why, then?"

"I can't tell you why, and I don't know why, but I mean it. And what'smore"--her eyes sparkled--"if ever you say such word to Minnie younever pass my door again. "

This seemed to take Mr. Gammon's breath away. After a rather longsilence he looked about for his hat, then for his dog-whip. 

"I'll say good night, Mrs. Clover. Hot, isn't it? Hottest day yet. Isay, you're not riled with me? That's all right. See you again beforelong. "

He did not make straight for home, but rambled in a circuit for thenext hour. When darkness had fallen he found himself again near thechina shop, and paused, for a moment only, by the door. On the oppositeside of the street stood a man who had also paused in a slow walk, andwho also looked towards the shop. But Mr. Gammon went his way withoutso much as a glance at that dim figure. 

CHAPTER IV

POLLY AND MR. PARISH

Two first-rate quarrels in one day put Polly Sparkes into high goodhumour. On leaving her aunt's house in the afternoon she strolled intoBattersea Park, and there treated herself to tea and cakes at a littleround table in the open air. Mrs. Clover, though the quarrel wasprolonged until four o'clock, had offered no refreshments, which seemedto Miss Sparkes a very gross instance of meanness and inhospitality. 

At a table near to her sat two girls, for some reason taking a holiday, who conversed in a way which proved them to be "mantle hands, " andPolly listened and smiled. Did she not well remember the day when thepoverty of home sent her, a little girl, to be "trotter" in a workroom?But she soon found her way out of that. A sharp tongue, a bold eye, anda brilliant complexion helped her on, step by step, or jump by jump, till she had found much more agreeable ways of supporting herself. Allunimpeachable, for Polly was fiercely virtuous, and put a very highvalue indeed upon such affections as she had to dispose of. 

The girls were appraising her costume; she felt their eyes and enjoyedthe envy in them. Her hat, with its immense bunch of poppies; herblouse of shot silk in green and violet; her gold watch, carelesslydrawn out and returned to its pocket. "Now what do you think I am? Areal lady, I'll bet!" She caught a whisper about her hair. Red, indeed!Didn't they wish they had anything like it! Polly could have told themthat at a ball she graced with her presence not long ago her hair wasdone up with no less than seventy-two pins. Think of that! Seventy-twopins!

She munched a cream tart, and turned her back upon the envious pair. 

Back to Kennington Road by omnibus, riding outside, her eyes and hairdoing execution upon a young man in a very high collar, who was, shesaw, terribly tempted to address her, but, happily for himself, couldnot pluck up courage. Polly liked to be addressed by strange young men;experience had made her so skilful in austere rebuke. 

She rested in her bedroom, as stuffy and disorderly a room as couldhave been found in all Kennington Road. Moggie, the general, was onlyallowed to enter it in the occupant's presence, otherwise who knew whatprying and filching might go on? She paid a very low rent, thanks toMrs. Bubb's good nature, but the strained relations between them madeit possible that she would have to leave, and she had been thinkingto-day that she could very well afford a room in a betterneighbourhood; not that, all things considered, she desired to quitthis house, but Mrs. Bubb took too much upon herself. Mrs. Bubb was thewidow of a police officer; one of her children was in the PoliceOrphanage at Twickenham, and for the support of each of the others shereceived half a crown a week. This, to be sure, justified the goodwoman in a certain spirit of pride; but when it came to calling namesand making unpleasant insinuations--If a young lady cannot have aharmless and profitable secret, what is the use of being a young lady?

On the way to her duties at the theatre, about seven o'clock, sheentered a little stationer's shop in an obscure street, and asked with asmile whether any letter had arrived for her. Yes, there was oneaddressed in a careless hand to "Miss Robinson. " This, in anotherobscure street hard by she opened. On half a sheet of notepaper wasprinted with pen and ink the letters _W. S. T. _--that was all. Pollyhad no difficulty in interpreting this cipher. She tore up envelope andpaper, and walked briskly on. 

There was but a poor "house" this evening. Commission on programmeswould amount to very little indeed; but the young gentleman with theweak eyes, who came evening after evening, and must have seen thepresent piece a hundred times or so, gave her half a crown, weepingcopiously from nervousness as he touched her hand. He looked aboutseventeen, and Polly, who always greeted him with a smile of sportivecondescension, wondered how his parents or guardians could allow him tolive so recklessly. 

She left half an hour before the end of the performance with a girl whoaccompanied her a short way, talking and laughing noisily. Along thecrowded pavement they were followed by a young man, of whose proximityMiss Sparkes was well aware, though she seemed not to have noticedhim--a slim, narrow-shouldered, high-hatted figure, with the commonestof well-meaning faces set just now in a tremulously eager, pursuinglook. When Polly's companion made a dart for an omnibus this young man, suddenly red with joy, took a quick step forward, and Polly saw himbeside her in an attitude of respectful accost. 

"Awfully jolly to meet you like this. "

"Sure you haven't been waiting?" she asked with good humour. 

"Well--I--you said you didn't mind, you know; didn't you?"

"Oh, I don't mind!" she laughed. "If you've nothing better to do. There's my bus. "

"Oh, I say! Don't be in such a hurry. I was going to ask you"--hepanted--"if you'd come and have just a little supper, if you wouldn'tmind. "

"Nonsense! You know you can't afford it. "

"Oh, yes, I can--quite well. It would be awfully kind of you. "

Polly laughed a careless acceptance, and they pressed through theroaring traffic of cross-ways towards an electric glare. In a fewminutes they were seated amid plush and marble, mirrors and gilding, ina savoury and aromatic atmosphere. Nothing more delightful to Polly, who drew off her gloves and made herself thoroughly comfortable, whilstthe young man--his name was Christopher Parish--nervously scanned abill of fare. As his bearing proved, Mr. Parish was not quite at homeamid these splendours. As his voice and costume indicated, he belongedto the great order of minor clerks, and would probably go dinnerless onthe morrow to pay for this evening's festival. The waiter overawed him, and after a good deal of bungling, with anxious consultation of hiscompanion's appetite, he ordered something, the nature of which was butdimly suggested to him by its name. Having accomplished this feat he atonce became hilarious, and began to eat large quantities of dry bread. 

Quite without false modesty in the matter of eating and drinking, Pollymade a hearty supper. Christopher ate without consciousness of what wasbefore him, and talked ceaselessly of his good fortune in getting aberth at Swettenham's, the great house of Swettenham Brothers, teamerchants. 

"An enormous place--simply enormous! What do you think they pay inrent?--three thousand eight hundred pounds a year! Could you believeit? Three thousand eight hundred pounds! And how many people do youthink they employ? Now just guess, do; just make a shot at it!"

"How do I know? Two or three hundred, I dessay. "

Christopher's face shone with triumph. 

"One thousand--three hundred--and forty-two! Could you believe it?"

"Oh, I dessay, " Polly replied, with her mouth full. 

"Enormous, isn't it? Why, it's like a town in itself!"

Had his own name been Swettenham he could hardly have shown more pridein these figures. When Polly inquired how much _they_ made a year hewas unable to reply with exactitude, but the mere thought of what sucha total must be all but overcame him. Personally he profited by hisconnexion with the great firm to the extent of two pounds a week, anadvance of ten shillings on what he had hitherto earned. And hisprospects! Why, they were limitless. Once let a fellow get intoSwettenham's--

"You're not doing so bad for a single man, " remarked Polly, withfacetious malice in her eye. "But it won't run to a supper like thisvery often. "

"Oh--well--not often, of course. " His voice quavered into suddendespondency. "Just now and then, you know. Have some cheese?"

"Don't mind--Gorgonzoler. "

He paid the bill right bravely and added sixpence for the waiter, though it cost him as great a pang as the wrenching of a double tooth. A rapid calculation told him that he must dine at the Aerated BreadShop for several days to come. Whilst he was thus computing Polly drewout her gold watch. It caught his eye, he stood transfixed, and hisstare rose from the watch to Polly's face. 

"Just after eleven, " she remarked airily, and began to hum. 

Christopher had but a silver watch, an heirloom of considerableantiquity, and the chain was jet. Sunk of a sudden in profoundest gloomhe led the way to the exit, walking like a shamefaced plebeian who hadgot into the room by mistake. Polly's spirits were higher than ever. Just beyond the electric glare she thrust her arm under that of hermute companion. 

"You don't want me to git run over, do you?"

Parish had a thrill of satisfaction, but with difficulty he spoke. 

"Let's get out of this crowd--beastly, isn't it?"

"I don't mind a crowd. I like it when I've someone to hang on by. "

"Oh, I don't mind it, I like just what you like. What time did you sayit was, Miss Sparkes?"

"Just eleven. Time I was gettin' 'ome. There'll be a bus at the corner. "

"I hoped you were going to walk, " urged Christopher timidly. 

"S'pose I might just as well--if you'll take care of me. "

It was a long time since Polly had been so gracious, so mild. All theway down Whitehall, across the bridge, and into Kennington Road shechatted of a hundred things, but never glanced at the one which heldcomplete possession of Christopher's mind. Many times he broughthimself all but to the point of mentioning it, yet his courageinvariably failed. The risk was too great; it needed such a triflingprovocation to disturb Polly's good humour. He perspired under thewarmth of the night and from the tumult of his feelings. 

"You mustn't meet me again for a week, " said Polly when her dwellingwas within sight. 

"Why not?"

"Because I say so--that's enough, ain't it?"

"I say--Polly--"

"I've told you you're not to say 'Polly, '" she interrupted archly. 

"You're awfully good, you know--but I wish--"

"What? Never mind; tell me next time. Ta-ta!"

She ran off, and Christopher had no heart to detain her. For fiveminutes he hung over the parapet at Westminster, watching the blackflood and asking what was the use of life. On the whole Mr. Parishfound life decidedly agreeable, and after a night's rest, a littleworry notwithstanding, he could go to the City in the great morningprocession, one of myriads exactly like him, and would hopefully diphis pen in the inkpots of Swettenham Brothers. 

Moggie, the general, was just coming from the public-house with twofoaming jugs, one for Mrs. Bubb, the other for Mr. And Mrs. Cheeseman, her first-floor lodgers. Miss Sparkes passed her disdainfully, andentered with the aid of a latch-key. From upstairs sounded a banjo, preluding; then the sound of Mr. Cheeseman's voice chanting a popularrefrain:

 Come where the booze is cheaper, Come where the pots 'old more, Come where the boss is a bit of a joss, Come to the pub next door!

Polly could not resist this invitation. She looked in at theCheesemans' sitting-room and enjoyed half an hour of friendly gossipbefore going to bed. 

CHAPTER V

A NONDESCRIPT

Scarcely had quiet fallen upon the house--it was half an hour aftermidnight--when at the front door sounded a discreet but resoluteknocking. Mrs. Bubb, though she had retired to her chamber, was not yetwholly unpresentable; reluctantly, and with wonder, she went to answerthe untimely visitor. After a short parley through the gap of thechained door she ascended several flights and sought to arouse Mr. Gammon--no easy task. 

"What's up?" shouted her lodger in a voice of half-rememberedconviviality. "House on fire?"

"I hope not indeed. There wouldn't have been much chance for you if itwas. It's your friend Mr. Greenacre, as says he must see you for aminute. "

"All right; send him up, please. What the dickens can he want at thistime o' night!"

Mr. Gammon having promised to see his visitor out again, with dueattention to the house door, the landlady showed a light whilst Mr. Greenacre mounted the stairs. The gas-jet in his friend's bedroomdisplayed him as a gaunt, ill-dressed man of about forty, with a longunwholesome face, lank hair, and prominent eyes. He began withelaborate apologies, phrased and uttered with more refinement than hisappearance would have led one to expect. No; he would on no account beseated. Under the circumstances he could not dream of staying more thantwo, or at most three, minutes. He felt really ashamed of himself forsuch a flagrant breach of social custom; but if his friend would listenpatiently for one minute--nay, for less. 

"I know what you're driving at, " broke in Gammon good-humouredly, as hesat in bed with his knees up. "You've nowhere to sleep--ain't that it?"

"No, no; I assure you no!" exclaimed the other, with unfailingpoliteness. "I have excellent lodgings in the parish of St. Martin's-in-the-Fields; besides, you don't imagine I should disturb youafter midnight for such a trivial cause! You have heard of the death ofLord Bolsover?"

"Never knew he was living, " cried Gammon. 

"Nonsense, you are an incorrigible joker. The poor fellow died nearly aweek ago. Of course I must attend his funeral to-morrow down atHitchin; I really couldn't neglect to attend his funeral. And herecomes my difficulty. At present I'm driving a' Saponaria' van, and Ishall have to provide a substitute, you see. I thought I had found one, a very decent fellow called Grosvenor, who declares, by the by, that hecan trace his connexion with the aristocratic house--interesting, isn'tit? But Grosvenor has got into trouble to-day--something about passinga bad half-crown--a mere mistake, I'm quite sure. Now I've been tryingto find someone else--not an easy thing; and as I _must_ have asubstitute by nine to-morrow, I came in despair to you. I'm _sure_ inyour wide acquaintance, my dear Gammon--"

"Hold on, what's 'Saponaria'?"

"A new washing powder; only started a few days. Big vans, paintedvermilion and indigo, going about town and suburbs distributinghandbills and so on. "

"I see. But look here, Greenacre, what's all this rot about LordBolsover?"

"My dear Gammon, " protested the other. "I really can't allow you tospeak in that way. I make all allowance for the hour and thecircumstances, but when it comes to the death of a dear friend--"

"How the devil come you to be his friend, or he yours?" shouted Gammonin comical exasperation. 

"Why, surely you have heard me speak of him. Yet, perhaps not. It wasrather a painful subject. The fact is, I once gave the poor fellow asevere thrashing; it was before he succeeded to the title I was obligedto do it. Poor Bolsover confessed afterwards that he had behaved badly(there was a lady in the case), but it put an end to our intimacy. Andnow he's gone, and the least I can do is to attend his funeral. Thatreminds me, Gammon, I fear I shall have to borrow a sovereign, if it'squite convenient to you. There's the hire of the black suit, you see, and the fare to Hitchin. Do you think you could?"

He paused delicately, whereupon Gammon burst into a roar of laughterwhich echoed through the still house. 

"You're the queerest devil I know, " was the remark that followed. "It'sno use trying to make out what you're really up to. "

"I have stated the case in very clear terms, " replied Greenacresolemnly. "The chief thing is to find a substitute to drive the'Saponaria' van. "

"What sort of animal in the shafts?"

"Two--a pail of Welsh cobs--good little goers. "

"By jingo!" shouted Gammon, "I'll tool 'em round myself. I'm off forto-morrow, and a job of that kind would just suit me. "

Greenacre's face brightened with relief. He began to describe the routewhich the "Saponaria" van had to pursue. 

"It's the south-east suburbs to-morrow, the main thoroughfares ofGreenwich, Blackheath, Lewisham, and all round there. There are certainshops to call at to drop bills and samples; no order-taking. Here's thelist. At likely places you throw out a shower of these little bluecards. Best is near a Board School when the children are about. I'mgreatly obliged to you, Gammon; I never thought you'd be able to do ityourself. Could you be at the stable just before nine? I'd meet you andgive you a send-off. Bait at--where is it?" He consulted the notebook. "Yes, Prince of Wales's Feathers, Catford Bridge; no money out ofpocket; all settled in the plan of campaign. Rest the cobs for an houror so. Get round to the stables again about five, and I'll be there. It's very Kind of you; I'm very greatly obliged. And if you_could_--without inconvenience--"

His eyes fell upon Gammon's clothing, which lay heaped on a chair. Onthe part of the man in bed there was a moment's hesitation, but Gammonhad never refused a loan which it was in his power to grant. In a fewminutes he fulfilled his promise to Mrs. Bubb, seeing Greenacre safelyout of the house, and making fast the front door again; then he turnedin and slept soundly till seven o'clock. 

All went well in the morning. The sun shone and there was a pleasantnorth-west breeze; in high spirits Gammon mounted the big but lightvan, which seemed to shout in its brilliancy of red and blue paint. 

It was some time since he had had the pleasure of driving a pair. Greenacre had not overpraised the cobs; their start promised anenjoyable day. He was not troubled by any sense of indignity unfailinghumour and a vast variety of experience preserved him from suchthoughts. As always, he threw himself into the business of the momentwith conscientious gusto; he had "Saponaria" at heart, and was asanxious to advertise the new washing powder as if the profits were allhis own. At one spot where a little crowd chanced to gather about thevan he delivered an address, a fervid eulogy of "Saponaria, " declaringhis conviction (based on private correspondence) that in a week or twoit would be exclusively used in all the laundries of the Royal Family. 

At one shop where he was instructed to call he found a little trapwaiting, and as he entered there came out a man whom he knew by sight, evidently a traveller, who mounted the trap and drove off. Theshopkeeper was in a very disagreeable mood and returned Gammon'sgreeting roughly. 

"Something wrong?" asked Gammon with his wonted cheeriness. 

"Saw that chap in the white 'at? I've just told him str'ight that if hecomes into this shop again I'll kick 'im. I told him str'ight--see?"

"Did you? I like to hear a man talk like that. It shows there'ssomething in him. Who is the fellow? I seem to remember him somehow. "

"Quodlings' traveller. And he's lost them my orders. And I shall writeand tell 'em so. I never did like that chap; but when he comes in 'ere, with his white 'at, telling me how to manage my own business, andlarfin', yis larfin', why, I've done with him. And I told himstr'ight, " etc. 

"Quodlings', eh?" said Gammon reflectively. "They're likely to bewanting a new traveller, I should say. "

"They will if they take my advice, " replied the shopkeeper. "And that Ishall give 'em, 'ot and strong. "

As he drove on Gammon mused over this incident. The oil and colourbusiness was not one of his "specialities, " but he knew a good dealabout it, and could easily learn what remained. The name of Quodlinginterested him, being that of the man in the City who so strikinglyresembled Mr. Clover; who, moreover, was probably connected in some waywith the oil and colour firm. It might be well to keep an eye onQuodlings'--a substantial concern, likely to give one a chance of the"permanency" which was, on the whole, desirable. 

He had a boy with him to hold the horses, a sharp lad, whose talk gavehim amusement when he was tired of thinking. They found a commoninterest in dogs. Gammon invited the youngster to come and see his"bows-wows" at Dulwich, and promised him his choice out of the litterof bull terriers. With animation he discoursed upon the points of thisspecies of dog--the pure white coat; the long, lean, punishing head, flat above; the breadth behind the ears, the strength of back. Hewarned his young friend against the wiles of the "faker, " who had beenknown to pipeclay a mottled animal and deceive the amateur. Altogetherthe day proved so refreshing that Gammon was sorry when its end drewnear. 

Greenacre was late for his appointment at the stables; he came in asuit of black, imperfectly fitting, and a chimney-pot hat some yearsold, looking very much like an undertaker's man. His appearance seemedto prove that he really had attended a funeral, which renewed Gammon'swonder. As a matter of course they repaired to the nearest eating-houseto have a meal together--an eating-house of the old fashion, known alsoas a coffee-shop, which Gammon greatly preferred to any kind ofrestaurant. There, on the narrow seats with high wooden backs, asuncomfortable a sitting as could be desired, with food before him ofworse quality and worse cooked than any but English-speaking mortalswould endure, he always felt at home, and was pleasantly reminded ofthe days of his youth, when a supper of eggs and bacon at some suchresort rewarded him for a long week's toil and pinching. Sweet to himwere the rancid odours, delightfully familiar the dirty knives, thetwisted forks, the battered teaspoons, not unwelcome the day'snewspaper, splashed with brown coffee and spots of grease. He oftenlamented that this kind of establishment was growing rare, passing awaywith so many other features of old London. 

More fastidious, Greenacre could have wished his egg some six monthsfresher, and his drink less obviously a concoction of rinsings. But hewas a guest, and his breeding did not allow him to complain. Of thefuneral he shrank from speaking; but the few words he dropped were suchas would have befitted 'a genuine grief. Gammon even heard him murmur, unconsciously, "poor Bolsover. "

Having eaten they wended their way to a little public-house, with aparlour known only to the favoured few, where Greenacre, after a glassor two of rum--a choice for which he thought it necessary toapologize--began to discourse upon a topic peculiarly his own. 

"I couldn't help thinking to-day, Gammon, what a strange assembly therewould be if all a man's relatives came to his funeral. Nearly all of usmust have such lots of distant connexions that we know nothing about. Now a man like Bolsover--an aristocrat, with fifty or more acknowledgedrelatives in good position--think how many more there must be inout-of-the-way places, poor and unknown. Ay, and some of them not sovery distant kinsfolk either. Think of the hosts of illegitimatechildren, for instance--some who know who they are, and some who don't. "

This was said so significantly that Gammon wondered whether it had apersonal application. 

"It's a theory of mine, " pursued the other, his prominent eyes fixed onsome far vision, "that every one of us, however poor, has some wealthyrelative, if he could only be found. I mean a relative withinreasonable limits, not a cousin fifty times removed. That's one of thecharms of London to me. A little old man used to cobble my boots for mea few years ago in Ball's Pond Road, He had an idea that one of hisbrothers, who went out to New Zealand and was no more heard of, hadmade a great fortune; said he'd dreamt about it again and again, andcouldn't get rid of the fancy. Well, now, the house in which he livedtook fire, and the poor old chap was burnt in his bed, and so his namegot into the newspapers. A day or two after I heard that hisbrother--the one he spoke of--had been living for some years scarcely amile away at Stoke Newington--a man rolling in money, a director of theBritish and Colonial Bank. "

"Rummy go!" remarked Gammon. 

"When I was a lad, " pursued the other, after sipping at his refilledglass, "I lived just by an old church in the City, and I knew theverger, and he used to let me look over the registers. I think that'swhat gave me my turn for genealogy. I believe there are fellows who geta living by hunting up pedigrees; that would just suit me, if I onlyknew how to start in the business. "

Gammon looked up and asked abruptly. 

"Know anybody called Quodling?"

"Quodling? No one personally. But there's a firm of Quodling, brushmakers or something. "

"Oil and colourmen?"

"Yes, to be sure. Quodling? Now I come to think of it--why do you ask?"

"There's a man in the City called Quodling, a silk broker. For privatereasons I should like to know something about him. "

Greenacre gazed absently at his friend, like one who tries to piecetogether old memories. 

"Lost it, " he muttered at length in a discontented tone. "Somethingabout a Mrs. Quodling and a lawsuit--big lawsuit that used to be talkedabout when I was a boy. My father was a lawyer, you know. "

"Was he? It's the first time you ever told me, " replied Gammon with achuckle. 

"Nonsense! I must have mentioned it many a time. I've often noticed, Gammon, how very defective your memory is. You should use a mnemonicsystem. I made a splendid one some years ago; it helped me immensely. "

"I could have felt sure, " said Gammon, "that you told me once yourfather was a coal merchant. "

"Why, so he was--later on. Am I to understand, Gammon, that you accuseme of distorting facts?"

With the end of his third tumbler there had come upon Greenacre atendency to maudlin dignity and sensitiveness; he laid a hand on hisfriend's arm and looked at him with pained reproach. 

"Gammon! I was never inclined to mendacity, though I confess tomendicity I have occasionally fallen. To you, Gammon, I could not lie;I respect you, I admire you, in spite of the great distance between usin education and habits of mind. If I thought you accused me offalsehood, my dear Gammon, it would distress me deeply. Assure me thatyou don't. I am easily put out to-day. The death of poor Bolsover--myfriend before he succeeded to the title. And that reminds me. But for amere accident I might myself at this moment have borne a title. Mymother, before her marriage, refused the offer of a man who rose towealth and honours, and only a year or two ago died a baronet. Well, well, the chances of life the accidents of birth!"

He shook his head for some minutes, murmuring inarticulate regrets. 

"I think I'll just have one more, Gammon. "

"I think not, old boy. Where did you say you lived?"

"Oh, that's all right. Most comfortable lodgings in the parish of St. Martin's-in-the-Fields. If you have the slightest doubt of my veracity, leave me, Gammon; I beg you will leave me. I--in fact, I have anappointment with a gentleman I met at poor Bolsover's funeral. "

With no little difficulty Gammon led him away, and by means of anomnibus landed him at length near St. Martin's Church. No entreatycould induce the man to give his address. He protested that a fewminutes' walk would bring him home, and as he seemed to have soberedsufficiently, Gammon left him sitting on the church steps--a strangeobject in his borrowed suit of mourning and his antiquated top hat. 

CHAPTER VI

THE HEAD WAITER AT CHAFFEY'S

Polly Sparkes had a father. That Mr. Sparkes still lived was not knownto the outer circles of Polly's acquaintance; she never spoke of herfamily, and it was not easy to think of Polly in the filial relation. For some years she had lived in complete independence, now and thenexchanging a letter with her parent, but seeing him rarely. Not thatthey were on ill terms, unpleasantness of that kind had been avoided bytheir satisfaction in living apart. Polly sometimes wished she had afather "to be proud of"--a sufficiently intelligible phrase on Polly'slips; but for the rest she thought of him with tolerance as a good, silly sort of man, who "couldn't help himself"--that is to say, couldnot help being what he was. 

And Mr. Sparkes was a waiter, had been a waiter for some thirty years, and would probably pursue the calling as long as he was fit for it. Inthis fact he saw nothing to be ashamed of. It had never occurred to himthat anyone could or should be ashamed of the position; nevertheless, Mr. Sparkes was a disappointed, even an embittered, man; and that for asubtle reason, which did credit to his sensibility. 

All his life he had been employed at Chaffey's. As a boy of ten hejoined Chaffey's in the capacity of plate washer; zeal and conductpromoted him, and seniority made him at length head waiter. In thosedays Chaffey's was an eating-house of the old kind, one long room with"boxes"; beef its staple dish, its drink a sound porter at twopence apint. How many thousand times had Mr. Sparkes shouted the order "Oneally-mode!" The chief, almost the only, variant was "One 'ot!" whichsignified a cut from the boiled round, served of course with carrotsand potatoes, remarkable for their excellence. Midday dinner was theonly meal recognized at Chaffey's; from twelve to half-past two thepress of business kept everyone breathless and perspiring. Before andafter these hours little if anything was looked for, and at fouro'clock the establishment closed its doors. 

But it came to pass that the proprietor of Chaffey's died, and thebusiness fell into the hands of a young man with new ideas. Within afew months Chaffey's underwent a transformation; it was pulled down, rebuilt, enlarged, beautified; nothing left of its old self but thename. In place of the homely eating-house there stood a large hall, painted and gilded and set about with mirrors, furnished with marbletables and cane-bottomed chairs--to all appearances a restaurant on theFrance-Italian pattern. Yet Chaffey's remained English, flagrantlyEnglish, in its viands and its waiters. The new proprietor aimed atcombining foreign glitter with the prices and the entertainmentacceptable to a public of small means. Moreover, he prospered. Thedoors were now open from nine o'clock in the morning to twelve atnight. There was a bar for the supply of alcoholic drinks--thetraditional porter had always been fetched from a neighbouringhouse--and frivolities such as tea and coffee were in constant demand. 

This change told grievously upon Mr. Sparkes. At the first mention ofit he determined to resign but the weakness in his character shrankfrom such a decided step, and he allowed himself to be drawn into apainfully false position. The proprietor did not wish to lose him. Mr. Sparkes was a slim, upright, grave-featured man, whose deportment hadits market value; his side-whiskers and shaven lip gave him a decidedlyclerical aspect, which, together with long experience and a certainausterity of command, well fitted him for superintending the youngerwaiters. His salary was increased, his "tips" represented a much largerincome than heretofore. At the old Chaffey's every diner gave him apenny, whilst at the new he often received twopence, and customers weremuch more numerous. But every copper he pouched cost Mr. Sparkes a pangof humiliation; his "Thank you, sir, " had the urbanity which had becomemechanical, but more often than not he sneered inwardly, despisinghimself and those upon whom he waited. 

To one person alone did he exhibit all the bitterness of his feelings, and that was Mrs. Clover, the sister of his deceased wife. With her heoccasionally spent a Sunday evening in the parlour behind the chinashop, and there would speak the thoughts that oppressed him. 

"It isn't that I've any quarrel with the foreign rest'rants, Louisa. They're all right in their way. They suit a certain public, and theycharge certain prices. But what I do think is mean and low--mean andlow--is to be neither one thing nor the other; to make a sort of showas if you was 'igh-clawss, and then have it known as you're thecheapest of the cheap. Potatoes! That I should live to see Chaffey's'anding out such potatoes! They're more like food for pigs, and I'veknown the day when Chaffey's 'ud have thrown 'em at the 'ead of anybodyas delivered 'em such offal. It isn't a place for a self-respectingman, and I feel it more and more. If a shop-boy wants to take out hissweetheart and make a pretence of doing it grand, where does he go to?Why, to Chaffey's. He couldn't afford a real rest'rant; but Chaffey'slooks the same, and Chaffey's is cheap. To hear 'em ordering roast fowland Camumbeer cheese to follow--it fair sickens me. Roast fowl! a old'en as wouldn't be good enough for a real rest'rant to make inter soup!And the Camumbeer! I've got my private idea, Louisa, about what thatCamumbeer is made of. And when I think of the Cheshire and the Cheddarwe used to top up with! It's 'art-breaking. "

From a speaker with such a countenance all this was very impressive. Mrs. Clover shook her head and wondered what England was coming to. Inreturn she would tell of the people who came to her shop to hire cupsand saucers just to make a show when they had a friend to tea withthem. There was much of the right spirit in both these persons, forthey sincerely despised shams, though they were not above profiting bythe snobberies of others. But Mrs. Clover found amusement in the stateof things, whereas Mr. Sparkes grew more despondent the more he talked, and always added with a doleful self-reproach:

"If I'd been half a man I should have left. They'd have taken me on atSimpkin's, I know they would, or at the Old City Chop House, if I'dwaited for a vacancy. Who'd take me on now? Why, they'd throw it in myface that I came from Chaffey's, and I shouldn't have half a word tosay for myself. "

It was very seldom that he received a written invitation from hissister-in-law, but he heard from her in these hot days of June that sheparticularly wished to see him as soon as possible. The message hethought, must have some reference to Mrs. Clover's husband, whosereappearance at any moment would have been no great surprise, evenafter an absence of six years. Mr. Sparkes had a strong objection tomysterious persons; he was all for peace and comfort in a familiarroutine, and for his own part had often hoped that the man Clover wasby this time dead and buried. Responding as soon as possible to Mrs. Clover's summons, he found that she wished to speak to him about hisdaughter. Mrs. Clover showed herself seriously disturbed by Polly'srecent behaviour; she told of the newly-acquired jewellery, of thedresses in which Miss Sparkes went "flaunting, " of the girl's scornfulrefusal to answer natural inquiries. 

"The long and the short of it is, Ebenezer, you ought to see her, andfind out what's going on. There may be nothing wrong, and I don't saythere is; but that watch and chain of hers wasn't bought under twentypounds--that I'll answer for, and it's a very queer thing, to say theleast of it. What business was it of mine, she asked. I shouldn'twonder if she says the same to you; but it's your plain duty to have atalk with her, don't you think so now?"

To have a talk with Polly, especially on such a subject, was no easy orpleasant undertaking for Mr. Sparkes, who had so long resigned allsemblance of parental authority. But as a conscientious man he couldnot stand aside when his only surviving daughter seemed in peril. Afteran exchange of post cards a meeting took place between them on theEmbankment below Waterloo Bridge, for neither father nor child hadanything in the nature of a home beyond the indispensable bedroom, andtheir only chance of privacy was in the open air. Having no desire toquarrel with her parent (it would have been so very one-sided anduninspiriting) Polly began in a conciliatory tone. 

"Aunt Louisa's been making a bother, has she? Just like her. Don't youlisten to her fussicking, dad. What's all the row about? I've had apresent given to me; well, what of that? You can look at it foryourself. I can't tell you who give it me, 'cos I've promised Iwouldn't; but you'll know some day, and then you'll larff. It ain'tnothing to fret your gizzard about; so there. I'm old enough to lookafter myself, and if I ain't I never shall be; so there. "

This did not satisfy Mr. Sparkes. He saw that the watch and chain werecertainly valuable, and he could not imagine how the girl had becomehonourably possessed of them, save as the gift of an admirer; but themere fact of such an admirer's exacting secrecy implied a situation ofdanger. 

"I don't like the look of it, Polly, " he remarked; with a nervousattempt to be severe. 

"All right, dad; then don't like the look of it. The watch is goodenough for me. "

It took Mr. Sparkes two or three minutes to understand this joke. Whilst he was reflecting upon it a thought suddenly passed through hismind, which startled him by its suggestiveness. 

"Polly!"

"Well?"

"It ain't your Uncle Clover, is it?"

The girl laughed loudly as if at a preposterous question. 

"Him? Why, I've as good as forgot there was such a man! What do youmean? Why, I shouldn't know him if I saw him. What made you think ofthat?"

"Oh, I don't know. Who knows when and where he may turn up, or whathe'll do?"

"That's a good 'un! My Uncle Clover indeed! Whatever put that into your'ead?"

Her ejaculations of wonder and disdain continued until the close of theinterview, and Mr. Sparkes went his way, convinced that Polly was beingpursued by some wealthy man, probably quite unprincipled--the kind ofman who frequents "proper rest'rants" and sits in the stalls at"theaytres, " where, doubtless, Polly had made his acquaintance. Afterbrooding a day or two on this idea he procured a sheet of the cheapestnote-paper and sat down in his bedroom, high up at Chaffey's, tocompose a letter for his daughter's behoof. 

"DEAR POLLY, "I write you these few lines to say that the more I think about you andyour way of carrying on the less I like the look of it, and the soonerI make that plain to you the better for both of us, and I'm sure you'llthink the same. You are that strong-headed, my girl; but listen to thewarnings of experience, who have seen a great deal of the wicked world, and cannot hope to see much more of it at my present age. There willcome a day when you will wish that you could hear of me by a note toChaffey's, but such will not be. Before it's too late I take up the pento say these few words, which is this: I have always been a respectableand a saving man, which I hope to be until I am no more. What I mean tosay is this, Chaffey's is not what it used to be. But I have laid by, and when it comes to the solemn hour then Mr. Walker has promised tomake my will. All I want to say is that there may be more than youthink for and if you are respectable I think it most likely all will beyours. But listen to this, if you disgrace yourself, my girl, not onehalfpenny nor yet one sixpenny piece will you receive from

"Your affectionate father

"EBENEZER SPARKES

"P. S. --This is wrote in a very serious mind. "

This epistle at once pleased and angered Polly. Though a greedy she wasnot a mercenary young woman; she had little cunning, and her vulgarambitions were consistent with a good deal of honest feeling. To do herjustice, she had never considered the possibility that her father mighthave money to bequeath; his disclosure surprised her, and caused her toreflect for the first time that Chaffey's head waiter had long held atolerably lucrative position, whilst his expenses must have beentrivial; so much the better for her. On the other hand, she stronglyresented his suspicions and warnings. In the muddled obscurity ofPolly's consciousness there was a something which stood for womanlypride. She knew very well what dangers perpetually surrounded her, andshe contrasted herself with the girls who weakly, or recklessly, threwthemselves away. Divided thus between injury and gratitude she speedilyanswered her father's letter, writing upon a sheet of scentedgrass-green note-paper, deeply ribbed, which made her pen blot, splutter, and sprawl far more than it would have done on a smoothsurface. 

"DEAR DAD, "In reply to yours, what I have to say is, Aunt Louisa and Mrs. Bubbare nasty cats, and I don't think them for making a bother. It is verykind of you about your will, though I'm sure, if you believe me, Idon't want not yet to see you in your grave; and what I do think is, you might have a better opinion of your daughter and not think all thebad things you can turn your mind to. And if it is me that dies first, you will be sorry for the wrong you done me. So I will say no more, dear dad. 

"From your loving

"POLLY"

CHAPTER VII

POLLY'S WRATH

Polly posted her letter on the way to the theatre. This evening she hada private engagement for ten o'clock, and on setting forth to theappointed place she looked carefully about her to make sure that no onewatched or followed her. Christopher Parish was not the only young manwho had a habit of standing to wait for her at the theatre door. Uponhim she could lay her commands with some assurance that they would beobserved, but others were less submissive, and at times had given hertrouble. To be sure, she could always get rid of importunate persons bythe use of her special gift, that primitive sarcasm which few cared toface for more than a minute or two; but with admirers Polly wished tobe as far as possible gracious, never coming to extremities with one ofthem until she was quite certain that she thoroughly disliked him. Finding the coast clear (which after all slightly disappointed her) shewalked sharply into another street, where she hailed a passing hansom, and was driven to Lincoln's Inn Fields. 

Here, on the quiet pavement shadowed by the College of Surgeons, shelingered in expectancy. Ten was striking, but she looked in vain forthe figure she would recognize--that of a well-dressed, middle-agedman, with a white silk comforter about his neck, and drawn up so as tohide his mouth. Twice she had met him here, and on each occasion he waswaiting for her when she arrived. Five minutes passed--ten minutes. Shegrew very impatient and, as a necessary consequence, very angry. Toavoid unpleasant attention from the few people who walked by, she hadto pace backwards and forwards as if going about her business. When theclocks chimed the first quarter Polly was in a turmoil of anger, blended with disappointment and apprehension. She could not have made amistake. The message she had received was "W. S. T. , " which meant"Wednesday same time. " Some accident must have interfered. At twentyminutes past ten she had lost all hope. She must go home, and wait fora possible communication on the morrow. 

Swinging her skirts, clenching her fists, and talking silently at agreat rate, she walked in the direction of Chancery Lane. At a cornersomeone going in the opposite direction caught sight of her andstopped. Polly was so preoccupied that she would not have noticed thefigure had it merely passed; by stopping it drew her attention, and shebeheld Christopher Parish. 

"Why, Miss Sparkes!"

He held out his hand, but to no purpose. Polly had her eyes fixed uponhim, and they flashed with hostility. 

"What do you mean by it?"

"Mean by what?"

The young man was astonished; his hand dropped, and he trembled beforeher. 

"How dare you spy after me? Nasty little wretch!"

"Spy after you, Miss Sparkes? Why, I hadn't the least idea of anythingof the kind; I swear I hadn't! I was just taking a walk--"

"Oh, yes! Of course! You're always taking a walk, aren't you? And youalways come just this way 'cause it's nice and convenient for LambethRoad, ain't it? I've a good mind to call a p'liceman and give you incharge for stopping me in the street!"

"Well, did ever anybody hear such a thing as this?" exclaimed Mr. Parish, faint in voice and utterly at a loss for protestations at alleffective. "I tell you I was only taking a walk--that's to say, I'vebeen with a friend. "

"A friend? Oh, yes, of course. What friend?"

"It's somebody you don't know; his name--"

"Oh, of course, I don't know him! And I don't know you either afterto-night, so just remember that, Mr. Parish. The idea! If I can't taketwo steps without being followed and spied upon! And you call yourselfa gentleman. Get out of my way, please. If you want to follow and spy, you're quite at liberty to do so. P'r'aps it'll ease your nasty littlemind. Don't talk to me! What business have you got to stop me in thestreet, I'd like to know? If you're not careful I shall send acomplaint to your employers, and then you'll have plenty of time to gotaking walks. "

She turned from him and pursued her way, but not so quickly as before. Christopher, limp with misery, tried to move off in another direction, but in spite of himself he was drawn after her. By Chancery Lane andalong the Strand he kept her in sight, often with difficulty, for hedurst not draw nearer than some twenty yards. At Charing Cross shestopped, and by her movements showed that she was looking for anomnibus. Parish longed to approach, quivered with the ever-recurrentimpulse, but his fear prevailed. In a more lucid state of mind he wouldprobably have remarked that Polly allowed a great many omnibuses to goby, and that she was surely waiting much longer than she need havedone. But at length she jumped in and disappeared, whereupon Mr. Parishspent all the money he had with him on a large brandy and soda, hopingit would make him drunk. 

The door of the house in Kennington Road stood open; in the passage Mr. Gammon and Mr. Cheeseman were conversing genially. They nodded toPolly, but did not speak. Passing them to the head of the kitchenstairs she called to Mrs. Bubb, and that lady's voice summoned her todescend. 

"Are you alone?" asked Miss Sparkes sharply. 

"There's only Mrs. Cheeseman. "

Polly went down into the kitchen, where Mrs. Cheeseman, a stout womanof slatternly appearance, was sitting with her legs crossed and a plateof shrimps in her lap. 

"Have a srimp, Polly?" began Mrs. Bubb, anxious to dismiss the memoryof recent discord. 

"Thank you, Mrs. Bubb, if I have a fancy for srimps I can afford to buythem for myself. "

"Well, you _are_ nasty! Ain't she real obstropolous, Mrs. Cheeseman? Inever knew a nastier-tempered girl in all my life, that I never did. There's actially no living with her. "

"Now set down, Polly, " urged the stout woman in an unctuous voice. "Setdown, do, an' tike things easy. You'll worrit your sweet self to deathbefore you're many years older if you go on like this. "

"I'm much obliged to you, Mrs. Cheeseman, " answered Polly, holdingherself very stiff; "but I didn't come here to set down, nor to talkneither. But I'm glad you're here, because you'll be a witness to whatI say. I've come to give Mrs. Bubb a week's notice. She's often enoughtold me that she wants to keep her house respectable, and I'm sureshe'll be glad to get rid of people as don't suit her. It's the firsttime I was ever told that I disgraced a 'ouse, and I hope it'll be thelast time too. When I pay my rent to-morrow morning you'll please tounderstand, Mrs. Bubb, that I've given a week's notice. I may be adisgrace, but I dare say there's people as won't be ashamed to let me aroom. And that's what I came to say, and now I've said it, and Mrs. Cheeseman is a witness. "

This was spoken so rapidly that it left Polly breathless and with avery high colour. The elder women looked at each other, and Mrs. Cheeseman, with a shrimp in her mouth, resumed the attempt atpacification. 

"Now, see 'ere, Polly. You're a young gyell, my dear, and a 'andsomegyell, as we all know, and you've only one fault, which there ain't noneed to mention it. And we're all fond of you, Polly, that's the fact. Ain't we all fond of her, Mrs. Bubb?"

"Oh, yes, she's very fond of me!" exclaimed the girl. "And so is myAunt Louisa. And to show it they go telling everybody that I ain'trespectable, that I'm a disgrace to a decent 'ouse. D'you think I'llstand it?" Of a sudden she changed from irony to fierceness. "What doyou mean by it, Mrs. Bubb? Did you never hear of people beingprosecuted for taking away people's characters? Just you mind whatyou're about, Mrs. Bubb. I give you fair warning, and that's all I haveto say to you. "

Having relieved her feelings with these and a few more verbal missiles, Polly ran up the kitchen steps. In the passage the two men were stillconversing; at sight of Polly they stopped with an abruptness which didnot escape her observation. No doubt, she said to herself, they hadbeen talking about her. No doubt, too, they had their reasons forletting her go by as before without a word. Only when she was half-wayup the first flight of stairs did Mr. Cheeseman call to her a"Goodnight, Miss Sparkes, " to which she made no reply whatever. 

On the morrow she called at the little stationer's shop, but no letterawaited her. She decided to be again at the rendezvous that evening, lest there should have been some mistake in her cipher message; but shelingered near the College of Surgeons in vain. Polly's heart sank asshe went home, for to-night there was no one to quarrel with. Mrs. Bubband all the lodgers had shown that they meant to hold aloof; not evenMoggie would look at her or speak a word. It was quite an unprecedentedstate of things, and Polly found it disagreeable. 

There was only one consolation, and that a poor one. She had received aletter from Christopher Parish, a letter of abject remonstrance andentreaty. He grovelled at her feet. He talked frantically of poison andthe river. If she would but meet him and hear him in his own defence!And Polly quite meaning to do so, gave herself the pleasure ofappearing obdurate for a couple of days. 

At the theatre she examined every row of spectators in stalls anddress-circle, having he own reason for thinking that she might discovercertain face. But no such fortune befell her, and still no letter came. 

At home she suffered increasing discomfort. For one thing she had toseek her meals in the nearest coffee-shop instead of going down intoMrs. Bubb's kitchen and gossiping as she ate at the family deal table, amid the dirt and disorder which custom had made pleasant. When in thehouse she locked herself in her bedroom, reading the kind of print thatinterested her, or lying in sullen idleness on the bed. Numerous aswere her acquaintances elsewhere, they did not compensate her for theloss of domestic habit, As the week drew on she bethought herself thatshe must look for new lodgings. In giving notice to Mrs. Bubb she hadnot believed for a moment that it would come to this she felt, surethat her old friend would make up the quarrel and persuade her to stay. Nothing of the kind; for once she was taken most literally at her word. There were moments when Polly felt disposed to cry. 

It vexed her much more than she would have thought to miss the jocosegreetings of her neigh hour Mr. Gammon. As usual he sang in his bedroomof a morning, as usual be shouted orders and questions to Moggie, butfor her he had never a word. She listened for him as he came out of theroom, and once so far humbled herself as to affect a cough in hisbearing. Mr. Gammon paid no attention. 

Then she raged at him--of course, _sotto voce_. Many were the phrasesof abuse softly hurled at him as he passed her door. The worst of itwas that none of them seemed really applicable; her vision of the mandefeated all such contumely. She had never disliked Mr. Gammon; oddlyenough, she seemed to think of him with a more decided friendliness nowthat his conduct demanded her enmity. She asked herself whether hereally believed any harm of her. It looked very much as if he did, andthe thought sometimes kept her awake for fully a quarter of an hour. 

It was the last day but one of her week. To-morrow she must eithersubmit to the degradation of begging Mrs. Bubb's leave to remain, orpack her boxes and have them removed before nightfall. Worry had endedby giving her a slight headache, a very rare thing indeed. Moreover, itrained, and breakfast was only obtainable by walking some distance. 

"Oh, the beasts!" Polly exclaimed to herself, as she pulled on herboots, meaning the inhabitants of the house all together. 

Mr. Gammon opened his door and shouted down the staircase. 

"Moggie! Fry me three eggs this morning with the bacon--do you hear?"

Three eggs! Fried with bacon! And all comfortably set out at the end ofthe kitchen table. And to think that she might be going down tobreakfast at the same time, with Mr. Gammon's jokes for a relish!

"Oh, the wretches! The mean, selfish brutes!"

She stamped about the floor to ease her nerves as she put on a commonhat and an old jacket. She unlocked her door with violence, banged itopen, and slammed it to again. From the staircase window she saw thatthe rain was falling more heavily, and she could not wait, for she felthungry--after hearing about those three eggs. If she met anyone downbelow!

And, as chance had it, she met Mrs. Cheeseman just coming up to herroom from the kitchen with a dish of sausages. The woman grinned andturned her head away. Polly had never been so tempted to commit anassault; she thought with a burning brain how effective would be onesmart stroke on the dish of sausages with the handle of her umbrella. 

Still hot from this encounter in the passage she came face to face withMrs. Bubb. The landlady seemed to hesitate, but before Polly had goneby she addressed her with exaggerated politeness. 

"Good morning, Miss Sparkes. So I s'pose we're losing you to-morrow?"

"Yes, you are, " Polly replied, from a parched throat, glaring at herenemy. 

"Oh, then I'll put the card up!"

"Do! I wouldn't lose no time about it. And listen to this, Mrs. Bubb. Next time you see your friend Mrs. Clover, you may tell her that if shewants to know where her precious 'usband is she's not to ask _me_, 'cosI wouldn't let her know, not if she was on her death-bed!"

Having uttered this surprising message, with point and emphasis worthyof its significance, Polly hastened from the house. And Mrs. Bubb stoodlooking after her in bewilderment. 

CHAPTER VIII

MR. GAMMON'S RESOLVE

Convinced that his life was blighted, Mr. Gammon sang and whistled withmore than usual vivacity as he dressed each morning. It was not in hisnature to despond; he had received many a knock-down blow, and alwayscame up fresher after it. Mrs. Clover's veto upon his tender hopes withregard to Minnie had not only distressed, but greatly surprised him;for during the last few months he had often said to himself that, whether Minnie favoured his suit or not, her mother's goodwill was acertainty. His advances had been of the most delicate, no word ofdistinct wooing had passed his lips; but he thought of Minnie a greatdeal, and came to the decision that in her the hopes of his life werecentred. It might be that Minnie had no inkling of his intentions; shewas so modest, so unlike the everyday girls who tittered and ogled withevery marriageable man; on that very account he had made her his ideal. And Mrs. Clover would help him as a mother best knows how. The shock oflearning that Mrs. Clover would do no such thing utterly confused hismind. He still longed for Minnie, yet seemed of a sudden hopelesslyremote from her. He could not determine whether he had given her up ornot; he did not know whether to bow before Mrs. Clover or to protestand persevere. He liked Mrs. Clover far too much to be angry with her;he respected Minnie far too much to annoy her by an unwelcomecourtship; he wished, in fact, that he had not made a fool of himselfthat evening, and wanted things to be as they were before. 

In the meantime he occupied himself in looking out for a new engagementPlenty were to be had, but he aimed at something better than hadsatisfied him hitherto. He must get a "permanency"; at his age it wastime he settled into a life of respect able routine. But for hisfoolish habit of living from hand to mouth, now in this business, nowin that, indulging his taste for variety, Mrs. Clover would never, hefelt sure, have "put her foot down" in that astonishing way. The bestthing he could do was to show himself in a new light. 

Thanks to his good nature, his practicality, and the multitude of hisacquaintances, all manner of shiftless or luckless fellows were in thehabit of looking to him for advice and help. As soon as they foundthemselves adrift they turned to Gammon. Every day he had a letterasking him to find a "berth" or a "billet" for some out-at-elbowsfriend, and in a surprising number of cases he was able to make auseful suggestion. It would have paid him to start an employmentagency; as it was, instead of receiving fees, he very often suppliedhis friends' immediate necessities out of his own pocket. The more heearned the more freely he bestowed, so that his occasional strokes ofluck in commerce were of no ultimate benefit to him. No man in hisPosition had a larger credit; for weeks at a time he could live withoutcash expenditure; but this was seldom necessary. 

By a mental freak which was characteristic of him he nursed the thoughtof connecting himself with Messrs. Quodling & Son, oil and colourmerchants. Theirs was a large and sound business, both in town andcountry. It might not be easy to become traveller to such a firm, buthis ingenious mind tossed and turned the possibilities of the case, andafter a day or two spent in looking up likely men--which involved agreat deal of drinking in a great variety of public resorts--he cameacross an elderly traveller who had represented Quodlings on a northerncircuit, and who boasted a certain acquaintance with Quodling thesenior. Thus were things set in train. At a second meeting with thevenerable bagman--who had a wonderful head for whisky--Gammon acquiredso much technical information that oil and colours might fairly be setdown among his numerous "specialities. " Moreover, his friend promisedto speak a word for him in the right quarter when opportunity offered. 

"By the way, " Gammon remarked carelessly, "are these Quodlings anyrelation to Quodling the silk broker in the City?"

His companion smiled over the rim of a deep tumbler, and continued tosmile through a long draught. 

"Why do you ask?"

"No particular reason. Happen to know the other man--by sight. "

"They're brothers--Quodling senior and the broker. "

"What's the joke?" asked Gammon, as the other still smiled. 

"Old joke--very old joke. The two men just as unlike as they couldbe--in face, I mean. I never took the trouble to inquire about it, butI've been told there was a lawsuit years ago, something to do with thewill of Lord somebody, who left money to old Mrs. Quodling--who wasn'told then. Don't know the particulars, but I'm told that somethingturned on the likeness of the younger boy to the man who made thewill--see!"

"Ah! Oh!" muttered Gammon reflectively. 

"An uppish, high-notioned fellow, Quodling the broker. Won't haveanything to do with his brother. He's nothing much himself; wentthrough the court not very long ago. "

Gammon promised himself to look into this story when he had time. Thatit could in any way concern him he did not seriously suppose, but heliked to track things out. Some day he would have another look atQuodling the broker, who so strongly resembled Mrs. Clover's husband. Both of them, it seemed, bore a likeness to some profligate aristocrat. Just the kind of thing to interest that queer fish Greenacre. 

In the height of the London season nothing pleased Gammon more than tosurvey the streets from an omnibus. Being just now a man of leisure hefreely indulged himself, spending an hour or two each day in theliveliest thoroughfares. It was a sure way of forgetting his cares. Sometimes he took a box place and chatted with the driver, or he madeacquaintances, male and female, on the cosy cross seats just broadenough for two. The London panorama under a sky of June feasted hislaughing eyes. Now he would wave a hand to a friend on the pavement orborne past on another bus; now he would chuckle at a bit of comedy inreal life. Huge hotels and brilliant shops vividly impressed him, though he saw them for the thousandth time; a new device in advertisingwon his ungrudging admiration. Above all he liked to find himself inthe Strand at that hour of the day when east and west show a doublecurrent of continuous traffic, tight wedged in the narrow street, moving at a mere footpace, every horse's nose touching the back of thenext vehicle. The sun could not shine too hotly; it made coloursbrighter, gave a new beauty to the glittering public-houses, wherenames of cooling drinks seemed to cry aloud. He enjoyed a "block, " andwas disappointed unless he saw the policeman at Wellington Streetholding up his hand whilst the cross traffic from north and southrolled grandly through. It always reminded him of the Biblestory--Moses parting the waters of the Red Sea. 

He was in the full enjoyment of this spectacle when an odour of clovesbreathed across his face, and a voice addressed him. 

"Isn't that you, Mr. Gammon? Well, if I didn't think so!"

The speaker was a young woman, who, with a male companion, had justmounted the bus and seated herself at Gammon's back. Facing round herecognized her as a friend of Polly Sparkes, Miss Waghorn by name, whoadorned a refreshment bar at the theatre where Polly sold programmes. With a marked display of interesting embarrassment Miss Waghornintroduced him to her companion, Mr. Nibby, who showed himself cordial. 

"I've often heard talk of you, Mr. Gammon; glad to meet you, sir. Ithink it's Berlin wools, isn't it?"

"Well, it was, sir, but it's been fancy leather goods lately, and nowit's going to be something else. You are the Gillingwater burners, Ibelieve, sir?"

Mr. Nibby betrayed surprise. 

"And may I ask you how you know that?"

"Oh, I've a good memory for faces. I travelled with you on theUnderground not very long ago, and saw the name on some samples youhad. "

"Now, that's what I call smart observation, Carrie, " said theGillingwater burners, beaming upon Miss Waghorn. 

"Oh, we all know that Mr. Gammon's more than seven" replied the younglady with a throaty laugh, and her joke was admirably received. 

"Business good, sir?" asked Gammon. 

"Not bad for the time of year, sir. Is it true, do you know, thatMilligan of Bishopsgate has burst up?"

"I heard so yesterday; not surprised; business very badly managed. Great shame, too, for I know he got it very cheap, and there was afortune in it. Two years ago I could have bought the whole concern fora couple of thousand. "

"You don't say so!"

Mr. Gammon was often heard to remark that he could have bought this, that, or the other thing for something paltry, such as a couple ofthousands. It was not idle boasting, such opportunities had indeed comein his way, and, with his generous optimism, he was content to ignorethe fact that only the money was wanting. 

"What's wrong with Polly Sparkes?" inquired the young lady presently, again sending a waft of cloves into Gammon's face. 

"That's what I want to know, " he answered facetiously. 

"She's awful cut up about something. I thought you was sure to knowwhat it was, Mr. Gammon. She says a lot of you has been using hershimeful. "

"Oh, she does, does she?"

"You should hear her talk! Now it's her landlydy--now it's herawnt--now it's I don't know who. To hear her--she's been used shimeful. She says she's been drove out of the 'ouse. I didn't think it of _you_, Mr. Gammon. "

At the moment the bus was drawing slowly near to a popular wine-shop. Mr. Nibby whispered to Miss Waghorn, who dropped her eyes and lookeddemure; whereupon he addressed Gammon. 

"What do you say to a glass of dry sherry, sir?"

"Right you are, sir!"

So the omnibus was stopped to allow Miss Waghorn to alight, and allthree turned into the wine-shop. Dry sherry not being to Miss Waghorn'staste she chose sweet port, drinking it as one to the manner born, andtalking the while in hoarse whispers, with now and then an outburst ofshrill laughter. The dark, narrow space before the counter or bar wasdivided off with wooden partitions as at a pawnbroker's; eachcompartment had a high stool for the luxuriously inclined, and alongthe wall ran a bare wooden bench. Not easily could a less invitingplace of refreshment have been constructed; but no such thoughtoccurred to its frequenters, who at this hour were numerous. Squeezedtogether in a stifling atmosphere of gas and alcohol, with nothing tolook at but the row of great barrels whence the wine was drawn, thesemerry folk quenched their midsummer thirst and gave their wits a jog, and drank good fellowship with merciless ill-usage of the Queen'sEnglish. Miss Waghorn talked freely of Polly Sparkes, repeating all theangry things that Polly had said, and persistingly wanting to know whatthe "bother" was all about. 

"It's for her own good, " said Gammon with significant brevity. 

He did not choose to say more or to ask any questions which might turnto Polly's disadvantage. For his own part he seldom gave a thought tothe girl, and was far from imagining that she cared whether he kept onfriendly terms with her or not. At his landlady's suggestion he hadjoined in the domestic plot for sending Polly to "Coventry"--a phrase, by the by, which would hardly have been understood in Mrs. Bubb'shousehold; he argued that it might do her good, and that in any casesome such demonstration was called for by her outrageous temper. IfPolly could not get on with people who were sincerely her friends andhad always wished her well, let her go elsewhere and exercise herill-humour on strangers. Gammon did not believe that she would go; dayafter day he expected to hear that the quarrel was made up, and thatPolly had cleared her reputation by a few plain words. 

But this was the last day save one of Polly's week, and as yet she hadgiven no sign. On coming down into the kitchen to discuss his friedeggs and bacon he saw at once that Mrs. Bubb was seriously perturbed;with huffings and cuffings--a most unusual thing--she had justdespatched her children to school, and was now in conflict with Moggieabout a broken pie-dish, which the guilty general had concealed in theback-yard. A prudent man in the face of such tempers, Gammon sat downwithout speaking, and fell to on the viands which Mrs. Bubb--alsosilent--set before him. In a minute or two, having got rid of Moggieand closed the kitchen door, Mrs. Bubb came near and addressed him in asubdued voice. 

"What d'you think? It's her uncle! It's Clover!"

"Eh? What is?"

"Why, it's him as 'as been giving her things. "

"Has she said so?" asked Gammon, with eager interest. 

"I met her as she was coming down just now and she was in a tearin'rage, and she says to me, she says, 'When you see my awnt, ' she says, 'you tell her I know all about her 'usband, and that I wouldn't tell_her_ anything not if she went down on her bended knees! There now!'"

The uneducated man may perchance repeat with exactness something thathas been said to him, or in his hearing; for the uneducated woman suchaccuracy is impossible. Mrs. Bubb meant to be strictly truthful, but inthe nature of things she would have gone astray, even had Polly'smessage taken a much simpler form than wrathful sarcasm gave to it. However, she conveyed the spirit of Polly's words, and Gammon was soexcited by the report that he sprang up, overturning his cup of coffee. 

"Oh, cuss it! Never mind; most's gone on to my trousers. She said that?And to think we never thought of it! Where is she? When'll she be back?"

"I don't know. But she says she's going to leave to-morrow, and looksas if she meant it, too. Hadn't I better send to Mrs. Clover?"

Gammon reflected. 

"I tell you what, send and ask her to come here to-night; say it's veryimportant. We'll have them face to face--by jorrocks, we will!"

"Polly mayn't be 'ome before half-past ten or eleven. "

"Never mind. I tell you we'll have them face to face. If it comes tothat I'll pay for a cab for Mrs. Clover to go home in. Tell her to behere at eight. Stop. You mustn't have the trouble; I can very well goround myself. Yes, I'll go myself and arrange it. "

"It may be a lie, " remarked Mrs. Bubb. 

"So it may be, but somehow I don't think so. The rummiest thing thatthat never came into my head! I shouldn't be a bit surprised if Cloverain't living in Belgrave Square, or some such place. Just the kind ofthing that happens with these mysterious johnnies. She'll have comeacross him somewhere, and he's bribed her to keep it dark--see? What agooseberry I was never to think of it! We'll have 'em face to face!"

"Suppose Polly won't?"

"Won't? Gosh, but she _shall_! If I have to carry her downstairs, sheshall! Think we're going to let her keep a thing like this to herself?You just wait and see. Leave it to me, that's all. Lucky there's onlyfriends in the house. Polly, likes a row, and, by jorrocks, she shallhave one!"

CHAPTER IX

POLLY'S DEFIANCE

Content with her four lodgers, Mrs. Bubb reserved the rooms on theground floor for her own use. In that at the back she slept with thetwo younger children; the other two had a little bed in the front room, which during the daytime served as a parlour. On occasions ofceremony--when the parlour was needed in the evening--the childrenslept in a bare attic next to that occupied by Moggie; and this theylooked upon as a treat, for it removed them from their mother'sobservation, and gave opportunities for all sorts of adventurous pranks. 

Thus were things arranged for to-night. Mrs. Bubb swept and garnishedher parlour for the becoming reception of a visitor whom she could notbut "look up to. " Mrs. Clover's origin was as humble as her own, andher education not much better, but natural gifts and worldlycircumstances had set a distance between them. Partly, perhaps, becauseshe was the widow of a police constable Mrs. Bubb gave all due weightto social distinctions; she knew her "place, " and was incapable ofpresuming. With Polly Sparkes she did not hesitate to use freedom, forPolly could not pretend to be on a social level with her aunt, and as ayoung girl of unformed character naturally owed deference to anexperienced matron who took a kindly interest in her. 

There had been some question of inviting Mr. Sparkes, but Mr. Gammonspoke against it. No; let Polly have a fair chance, first of all, ofunbosoming herself before her aunt and her landlady. If she refused todo so, why then other steps must be taken. 

Gammon passed the day in high spirits, which, with the aid ofseasonable beverages, tended to hilarious excitement. The thing wasgoing to be as good as a play. In his short dialogue with Mrs. Cloverhe withheld from her the moving facts of the case, telling her onlythat her niece was going to quit Mrs. Bubb's, and that it behoved herto assist in a final appeal to the girl's better feelings. His own partin the affair was merely, he explained, that of a messenger, sent tourge the invitation. Mrs. Clover willingly consented to come. Not aword passed between them with reference to their last conversation, butMr. Gammon made it plain that he nursed no resentment, and the lady ofthe china shop behaved very amicably indeed. 

At six o'clock Polly came home to dress for the theatre. She leftagain, having spoken to no one. Soon afterwards Gammon, who in fact hadwatched for her departure, entered the house and held a conversationwith Mrs. Bubb in the parlour, where already the table was laid forsupper at half-past eight. Scarcely had eight struck when Mrs. Clover, who had alighted from an omnibus, sounded her pleasantrat-tat--self-respecting, and such as did credit to the house, but withno suggestion of arrogance. As her habit was she kissed Mrs. Bubb--avery kindly and gracious thing to do. She asked after the children, andwas sorry she could not see them. In her attire Mrs. Clover preservedthe same happy medium as in her way of plying the knocker; it wassufficiently elaborate to show consideration for her hostess, yet notso grand as to overwhelm by contrast. She looked, indeed, so pleasant, and so fresh, and so young that it was as difficult to remember thetroubles of her life as it was to bear in mind that she had a daughterseventeen years of age. Mr. Gammon, who made up a trio at the suppertable, put on his best behaviour. It might perhaps have been suspectedthat he had quenched his thirst more often than was needful on a day ofshowers and falling temperature, but at supper he drank only twoglasses of mild ale, and casually remarked, as he poured out thesecond, that he had serious thoughts of becoming a total abstainer. 

"You might do worse than that, " said Mrs. Clover meaningly, but withgood nature. 

"You think so? Say the word, Mrs. Clover, and I'll do it. "

"I shan't say the word, because I know you couldn't live without aglass of beer. There's no harm in that. But when--"

The remark was left incomplete. 

"Hush!" came from Mrs. Bubb in the same moment. "Wasn't that the frontdoor?"

All listened. A heavy step was ascending the stairs. 

"Only Mr. Cheeseman, " said the landlady with a sigh of agitation. "Ofcourse it couldn't be Polly yet. "

Not till the repast was comfortably despatched did Mr. Gammon give asign that it might now be well to inform Mrs. Clover of what hadhappened. He nodded gravely to Mrs. Bubb, who with unaffectednervousness, causing her to ramble and stumble for many minutes inmazes of circumlocution, at length conveyed the fact to her anxiouslistener that Polly Sparkes had said something or other which implied aknowledge of Mr. Clover's whereabouts. Committed to this central fact, and urged by Mrs. Clover's growing impatience, the good woman came outat length with her latest version of Polly's remarkable utterance. 

"And what she said was this, Mrs. Clover. When next you goestale-telling to my awnt, she says--just as nasty as she could--whennext you goes making trouble with my Aunt Louisa, she says, you cantell her, she says, that there's nobody but me knows where her 'usbandis, and what he's a-doin' of but I wouldn't let her know, she says, notif it was to save her from death and burial in the workus! That's whatPolly said to me this very morning, and the words made that impressionon my mind that I shall never forget them to the last day of my life. "

"Did you ever!" exclaimed or rather murmured Mrs. Clover, for she wasastonished and agitated. Her face lost its wholesome tone for a moment, her hands moved as if to repel something, and at length she sat quitestill gazing at Mrs. Bubb. 

"And don't you think it queer, " put in Mr. Gammon, "that we never hiton that?"

"I'm sure I should never have thought of such a thing, " replied Mrs. Clover heavily, despondently. 

"And who knows, " cried Mrs. Bubb, "whether it's true after all? Polly'sbeen that nasty, how if she's made it up just to spite us?"

Mrs. Clover nodded, and seemed to find relief. 

"I shouldn't a bit wonder. How should Polly know about him? It seems tome a most unlikely thing--the most unlikely thing I ever heard of. Ishall never believe it till she's proved her words. I won't believeit--I can't believe it--never!"

Her voice rose on tremulous notes, her eyes wandered disdainfully. Shelooked at Gammon and immediately looked away again. He, as though inanswer to an appeal, spoke with decision. 

"What we're here for, Mrs. Clover, is to put Polly face to face withyou and so get the truth out of her. That we will do, cost what it may. We're not going to have that girl making trouble and disturbance justto please herself. I don't want to poke myself into other people'sbusiness, and I'm sure you won't think I do. "

"Of course not, Mr. Gammon. 'T ain't likely I should think so of you. "

"You know me better. I was just going to say that I'm a man ofbusiness, and perhaps I can help to clear up this job in abusiness-like way. That's what I'm here for. If I didn't think I couldbe of some use to you I should make myself scarce. What I propose isthis, Mrs. Clover. When Polly comes in--never mind how late it is, I'llsee you safe 'ome--let her get upstairs just as usual. Then you go upto her door and you knock and you just say, 'Polly, it's me, and I wanta word with you; let me come in, please?' If she lets you in, allright; have a talk and see what comes of it. If she won't let you injust come down again and let us know, and then we'll think what's to bedone next. "

This suggestion was approved, and time went on as the three discussedthe mystery from every point of view. At about ten o'clock Mrs. Bubb'sear caught the sound of a latch-key at the front door. She started up;her companions did the same. By opening the door of the parlour an inchor two it was ascertained that a person had entered the house and gonequickly upstairs. This could only be Polly, for Mr. And Mrs. Cheesemanwere together in their sitting-room above, their voices audible fromtime to time. 

"Now then, Mrs. Clover, " said Gammon, "up you go. Don't be nervous;it's only Polly Sparkes, and she's more call to be afraid of you thanyou of her. "

"I should think so, indeed, " assented Mrs. Bubb. "Don't give way, mydear. Whativer you do, don't give way. I'm sure I feel for you. It'sfair crool, it is. "

Mrs. Clover said nothing, and made a great effort to command herself. Her friends escorted her to the foot of the stairs. Mr. And Mrs. Cheeseman had their door ajar, knowing well what was in progress, forthe landlady had not been able to keep her counsel at such a dramaticcrisis; but fortunately Mrs. Clover was unaware of this. With light, quick foot she mounted the flight of stairs and knocked softly atPolly's door. 

"Well? Who's that?" sounded in a careless voice. 

"It's me, Polly--your Aunt Louisa. Will you let me come in?"

"What do you want?"

The tone of the inquiry was not encouraging, and Mrs. Clover delayed amoment before she spoke again. 

"I want to speak to you, Polly, " she said at length, with firmness. "You know what it's about. Let me come in, please. "

"I've got nothing to say to you about anything, " answered Polly, in atone of unmistakable decision. "You're only wasting your time, and thesooner you go 'ome the better. "

She spoke near to the door, and with her last word sharply turned thekey. Only just in time, for Mrs. Clover was that moment trying thehandle when she heard the excluding snap. Natural feeling so muchprevailed with her that she gave the door a shake, whereat her niecelaughed. 

"You're a bad, wicked, deceitful girl!" exclaimed Mrs. Clover hotly. "Idon't believe a word you said, not a word! You're going to the bad asfast as ever you can, and you know it, and you don't care, and I'm sureI don't care! Somebody ought to box your ears soundly, miss. I wouldn'thave such a temper as yours not for untold money. And when you want afriend, and haven't a penny in the world, don't come to me, because Iwon't look at you, and won't own you. And remember that, miss!"

Again Polly laughed, this time in high notes of wrathful derision. Before the sound had died away Mrs. Clover was at the foot of thestaircase, where Gammon and Mrs. Bubb awaited her. 

"It's all a make-up, " she declared vehemently. "I won't believe a wordof it. She's made fools of us--the nasty, ill-natured thing!"

Trembling with excitement she was obliged to sit down in the parlour, whilst Mrs. Bubb hovered about her with indignant consolation. Gammon, silent as yet, stood looking on. As he watched Mrs. Clover'scountenance his own underwent a change; there was a ruffling of thebrows, a working of the lips, and in his good-humoured blue eyes atwinkling of half-amused, half-angry determination. 

"Look here, " he began, thrusting his hands into his side pockets. "You've come all this way, Mrs. Clover, to see Polly, and see her youshall. "

"I don't want to, Mr. Gammon! I couldn't--"

"Now steady a bit--quiet--don't lose your head. Whether you want to seeher or not, I want you to, and what's more you shall see her. IfPolly's trying to make fools of us she shan't have all the fun; ifshe's telling the truth she shall have a fair chance of proving it; ifshe's lying we'll have a jolly good try to make her jolly well ashamedof herself. See here, Mrs. Bubb, will you do as I ask you?"

"And what's that, Mr. Gammon?" asked the landlady, eager to show herspirit. 

"You go up to Polly's room, and you say this: 'Miss Sparkes, ' you say, 'you've got to come downstairs and see your aunt. If you'll come, quitewell and good; if you won't, I just got to tell you that the lock onyour door is easy forced, and expense shan't stand in the way. ' Now youjust go and say that. "

Mrs. Bubb and Mrs. Clover exchanged glances. Both were plainlyimpressed by this masculine suggestion, but they hesitated. 

"I don't want to make an upset in the house, " said Mrs. Clover. "Thereisn't a word of truth in what she said; I feel sure of that, and it'sno use. "

"If you ask me, " Gammon interposed, "I'm not at all sure about that. Itseems to me just as likely as not that she has come across Mr. Clover--just as likely as not. "

Angry agitation again took hold of Polly's aunt, who was very easilyswayed by an opinion from Mr. Gammon. The landlady, too, gave willingear to his words. 

"Do you mean, " she asked, "that we should really break the door open?"

"I do; and what's more--I'll pay the damage. Go up, Mrs. Bubb, and justsay what I told you; and let's see how she takes it. "

Mrs. Clover began a faint objection, but Mrs. Bubb did not heed it. Herface set in the joy of battle, she turned from the room and ranupstairs. 

CHAPTER X

THE STORMING OF THE FORT

Mr. And Mrs. Cheeseman squeezed together at their partly-open door, were following the course of events with a delighted eagerness whichthreatened to break all bounds of discretion. Their grinning facessignalled to Mrs. Bubb as she went by, and she, no less animated, waveda hand to them as if promising richer entertainment. The next minuteshe was heard parleying with Miss Sparkes. Polly received her, as wasto be expected, with acrimonious defiance. 

"Oh, it's you, is it, Mrs. Bubb! Go and clean up your dirty kitchen. It'll take you all your time. "

There needed but this to fire the landlady to extremities. Her answerrang through the house. Dirty kitchen, indeed! And how many meals hadMiss Sparkes eaten there at cost price--aye, often for nothing at all!And who was it as made most dirt, coming in at all hours of the day andnight from running about the streets?

"Very well, my lady! Are you going to turn that key or not? That's allI want to know. "

"I'll have pity on your ignorance, " replied Polly, "and tell you morethan that. I'm going to bed, and going to try to get to sleep ifthere's any chance of it in a 'ouse like this, which might be a 'sylumfor inebriates. "

Mrs. Bubb laughed, the strangest laugh ever heard from her respectablelips. Words were needless, and in a few seconds she panted before herfriends downstairs. 

"She says she's a-goin' to bed. Of all the shimeless creatures! Calledme every nime she could turn her tongue to! And wouldn't open her doornot if the 'ouse was burning. Do you hear her?"

Mr. Gammon buttoned his coat from top to bottom, smoothed his moustacheand his side-whiskers, and had the air of a man who is in readiness forstern duty. 

"I want both of you to come up with me, " he said quietly. 

Mrs. Clover began to look alarmed, even embarrassed. 

"But perhaps she's really gone to bed. "

"All right, she shall have time, " he nodded, laughing. "I want both ofyou to come up to see fair play. "

"But, Mr. Gammon, I shouldn't like--"

"Mrs. Clover, you've come here to see Polly, and you've a right to seePolly, and by jorrocks you shall see Polly! Follow me upstairs. I'vesaid all that need be said; now to business. "

They ascended; Gammon three steps at a stride, the others in a hurryand a flutter. Light streamed from the Cheesemans' room; thefirst-floor lodgers; incapable any longer of self-restraint, were outon the landing. On the next floor it was dark, but Mr. Gammon saw agleam along the bottom of Polly's door. He knocked--the knock of apoliceman armed with a warrant. 

"Miss Sparkes!"

"Oh, it's you this time, is it? Come just to say good night? Youneedn't have put yourself out. "

"Miss Sparkes, are you in your proper dress?"

"What d'you mean?" Polly answered resentfully. "You've been drinkingagain, I suppose. "

"Not at all, my dear. I asked you for a good and sufficient reason. I'mgoing to break your door open, that's all, and I wish to give you fairwarning. Are you dressed or not?"

"Impudent wretch! What are you doing here? What business is it ofyours?"

"I'm the only strong man handy, that's all. Paid for the job, being outof work just now. "

Mrs. Bubb tittered; Mrs. Cheeseman, down below, choked audibly. 

"Will you answer that question or not? Very good; I give you till I'vecounted fifty, slow. When I say fifty, bang goes the bloomin' door. "

Amid an awful silence, enveloped, as it were, by the dull rumbling ofvehicles without, Mr. Gammon's voice began counting. He expected tohear Polly's key turn in the lock, so did Mrs. Bubb and Mrs. Clover. But the key moved not. 

"Forty-eight--forty-nine--fifty!"

Gammon drew back to give himself impetus, and rushed against the door. With raised foot he struck it just by the handle, and the house seemedto quiver. A second assault was successful; with crash and splinteringthe lock yielded, the door flew open. At the far side of the room stoodPolly, but in no attitude of surrender; she held a clothes brush, andas soon as the assailant showed himself flung it violently at his head. Another missile would have followed, but Gammon was too quick; with ared Indian yell of victory he crossed the floor at one bound and hadPolly in his arms. 

"Look out, ladies!" he shouted. "See fair play!"

Mrs. Bubb vented her emotions in "Oh my!" and "Did you ever!" withlittle screams of excitement verging on sheer laughter. It avenged herdelightfully to see Miss Sparkes gripped by the waist and hoisted forremoval. But Mrs. Clover was evidently possessed by very differentfeelings. Drawing back, as if in alarm or shame, a glow on each cheek, she uttered an involuntary cry of protest. 

"No, Mr. Gammon, I can't have that!"

It was doubtful whether the champion heard, for he unmistakably had hiswork set. Tooth and nail Polly contested every inch of ground. Onemoment her little fists were pummelling Gammon in the face, the nextshe tugged at his hair. Then again she scratched and kickedsimultaneously, her voice meanwhile screaming insult and menace, whichmust have been audible in the neighbours' houses. 

"Stop!" entreated Mrs. Clover. "Put her down at once!" she commanded. "Do you hear me, Mr. Gammon?"

Whether he did or not, the bold bagman paid no heed. He had at length afirmer grip of Polly with one of her arms imprisoned. He neared thehead of the stairs, the women falling back before him. 

"Mind what you're up to, " he was heard to shout good-humouredly asever. "If you trip me we shall both break our blessed necks. "

"How dare you!" shrieked the voice of the captive, now growing hoarse. "I'll give you in charge the minute I get downstairs! Ugly beast, I'llgive you all in charge!"

The descent began. But that Polly was slightly made, a man of Gammon'sphysique would have found it impossible to carry her down the stairs;as it was he soon began puffing and groaning. In spite of the riskPolly still struggled--two stair-railings were wrenched away on thefirst flight. Then appeared Mr. And Mrs. Cheeseman, red and perspiringwith muffled laughter. 

"You may laugh, you wretches!" Polly shrieked. "I'll give you all incharge, see if I don't. You've all took part in an assault--see whatyou'll get for it!"

After that she no longer resisted, except for an occasional kick on herbearer's shins. They reached the ground floor; they tottered into theparlour; close upon them followed Mrs. Bubb and Mrs. Clover. Set uponher feet, Polly seemed for a moment about to rush to the window; asecond thought led her to the mirror over the mantelpiece, where, fiercely eyeing the reflected group behind her, she made shift tosmooth her hair and arrange her dress. Gammon had sunk upon a chair andwas mopping his forehead. He had suffered far more than Polly in theencounter, and looked indeed, with wild hair, scratched face, burstcollar, loose necktie, a startling object. 

"Now, then!" the girl moved towards him, fists clenched, as if to renewhostilities. "What d'you mean by this? Just you tell me what you meanby it. "

"As soon as I can get breath, my dear. I meant to bring you down tospeak to your aunt, and I've done it--see?"

"I'm ashamed of you, Mr. Gammon, " exclaimed Mrs. Clover severely. "Inever thought you would go so far as this. "

"Ashamed of him, are you?" shrieked the girl, turning furiously uponher relative. "Be ashamed of yourself! What do you call yourself, eh? Arespectable woman? And you look on while your own niece is treated inthis way. Why, a costermonger's wife wouldn't disgrace herself so. Nowonder your 'usband run away from you!"

"Oh, this low, vulgar, horrid girl!" cried her aunt in a revulsion offeeling. "How she can be any relative of mine I'm sure I don't know. "

"Ugh! you nasty, ungrateful young woman, you!" chimed in Mrs. Bubb. "Tospeak to your kind awnt like that, as has been taking your part whenI'm sure I wouldn't 'a done! I'd like to see you put on bread and watertill you owned up whether you've told lies or not. "

Mrs. Clover was moved to the point of shedding tears, though herhandkerchief soon stopped the flow. 

"Polly, " she said, raising her voice above the hubbub, "you've treatedme that bad there's no words for it. But I can't believe you'll let mego away like this, without knowing whether you've really seen Mr. Clover or not. Just tell me, do. "

"Oh, it's just tell you, is it! After you've had me knocked about andinsulted by a dirty rough like that Gammon--"

"You've heard me say I never thought he meant to behave so. I wouldn'thave had it for anything. "

Whilst Mrs. Clover was speaking Gammon beckoned to the landlady, andtogether they retreated from the room, closing the door behind them. Onthe stairs stood Mr. And Mrs. Cheeseman eager for the latest news ofthe fray. At their invitation Mrs. Bubb and the hero of the eveningstepped up, and for a quarter of an hour Mrs. Clover was left alonewith her niece. Then the landlady's attention was called by a voicefrom below. 

"I must be going, Mrs. Bubb; I'll say good night. "

Quickly Mrs. Bubb descended; she saw at a glance that Polly's wrath hadin no degree diminished, and that Mrs. Clover was no whit easier inmind; but both had become silent. Merely saying that she would see herhostess again before long, the lady of the china shop took a hurriedleave and quitted the house. 

She had walked but a few yards when Mr. Gammon's voice sounded at hershoulder. 

"I'll see you part of the way home, " he said genially. 

"I'm much obliged to you, Mr. Gammon, " was Mrs. Clover's reply, "but Ican find my own way. "

"You'll let me see you into a 'bus, at all events. "

"Please don't trouble; I'd much rather you didn't. "

"Why?" asked Gammon bluntly. 

"Because I had. I'll say good night. "

She stood still looking him in the face with cold displeasure; only fora moment though, as her eyes could not bear the honest look in his. 

"Right you are, " said Gammon with affected carelessness. "Just as youlike. I won't force my company on anyone. "

Mrs. Clover made the movement which in women of her breeding signifiesa formal bow--hopelessly awkward, rigid, and self-conscious--and walkedrapidly away. The man, not a little crestfallen, swung round on hisheel. 

"What's wrong now?" he asked himself. "It can t be about Minnie, forshe was all right till after supper. And why it should make her angrybecause I lugged that cat Polly downstairs is more than I canunderstand. Well, I shan't die of it. "

On re-entering the house he found all quiet. Polly had returned to herchamber, Mrs. Bubb was in the Cheesemans' room. He went down into thekitchen, where the gas was burning, and sat till the landlady came down. 

"I don't see as you did much good, " was Mrs. Bubb's first remark, inthe tone which signifies reaction after excitement. "It weren't worthbreaking a door in, it seems to me. "

Gammon hung his head. 

"Didn't Polly tell her anything?"

"She stuck out she knew where the 'usband was, and that's all. "

"How do you know?"

"Polly said so as she went upstairs, and 'oped her awnt 'ud sleep wellon it. "

"H'm! I suppose that's why I couldn't get a word out of Mrs. Clover. Have the door mended, Mrs. Bubb, and charge me with it. Got anything todrink handy?"

"That I 'aven't, Mr. Gammon, except water. "

Gammon looked at his watch. 

"Why, it's only just half-past eleven. Hanged if I didn't think it waspast midnight! I must go round and get a drop of something. "

When he came back from quenching his thirst the house was in darkness. He strode the familiar ascent, and by Polly's door (barricaded insidewith the chest of drawers) hummed a mirthful strain. As he jumped intobed the events of the evening all at once struck him in such a comicallight that he uttered a great guffaw, and for the next ten minutes helay under the bedclothes shaking with laughter. 

CHAPTER XI

THE NOSE OF THE TREFOYLES

At noon next day a cab drove up to Mrs. Bubb's house; from it alightedMiss Sparkes, who, with the help of the cabman, brought downstairs atin box, a wooden box, two bandboxes, and three newspaper bundles. Withno one did she exchange a word of farewell; the Cheesemans' were out, the landlady and Moggie kept below stairs. So Polly turned her backupon Kennington Road, and shook the dust thereof from her feet for ever. 

Willingly she had accepted a proposal that she should share the room ofher friend Miss Waghorn, who was to be married in a month's time to Mr. Nibby, and did not mind a little inconvenience. The room was on thethird floor of a house at the north end of Shaftesbury Avenue; itmeasured twelve feet by fourteen. When Polly's bandboxes had beenthrust under the bed and her larger luggage built up in a corner, therewas nice standing room both for her and Miss Waghorn. The housecontained ten rooms in all, and its population (including sevenchildren) amounted to twenty-three. In this warm weather the atmospherewithin doors might occasionally be a trifle close, but ShaftesburyAvenue is a fine broad street, and has great advantages of situation. 

To Mr. Gammon's casual inquiry, Mrs. Bubb replied that she neither knewnor cared whither Polly had betaken herself. Himself having no greatcuriosity in the matter, and being much absorbed in his endeavour toobtain an engagement with the house of Quodling, he let Polly slip fromhis mind for a few days, until one morning came a letter from her. Positively, and to his vast surprise, a letter addressed to him by MissSparkes, with her abode fully indicated in the usual place. True, thestyle of the epistle was informal. It began:

"You took advantage of me because there wasn't a man in the house totake my part, as I don't call that grinning monkey of a Cheeseman a manat all. If you like to call where I am now, I shall have the pleasureof introducing you to somebody that will give you the good hiding youdeserve for being a coward and a brute. 

"Miss SPARKES"

Gammon laughed over this for half an hour. He showed it to Mrs. Bubb, who was again on the old terms with him, and Mrs. Bubb wanted toexhibit it to Mrs. Cheeseman. 

"No, don't do that, " he interposed gently. "We'll keep it betweenourselves. "

"Why?"

"Oh, I don't know. The girl can't help herself; she was born that way, you know. "

"I only hope she won't pay some rough to follow you at night and bashyou, " said Mrs. Bubb warningly. 

"I don't think that. No, no; Polly's bark is worse than her bite anyday. "

On the evening of that day, about ten o'clock, he chanced to be inOxford Street, and as he turned southward it occurred to him that hewould so far act upon Polly's invitation as to walk down the Avenue andglance at the house where she lived. He did so, and it surprised him tosee that she had taken up her abode in so mean-looking a place; he wasnot aware, of course, that. Miss Waghorn found the quarters good enoughfor her own more imposing charms and not less brilliant wardrobe. 

Walking on, at Cambridge Circus he came face to face with Miss Sparkesherself, accompanied by Miss Waghorn. To his hat salute and amiablesmile Polly replied with a fierce averting of the look. Her friendnodded cheerfully, and they passed. Two minutes after he found MissWaghorn beside him. 

"Hallo! Left Polly?"

"I want you to come back with me, Mr. Gammon, " replied the maidenarchly. "I 'ear you've offended Miss Sparkes. I don't know what it is, I'm sure, and I don't ask to be told, 'cause it's none of my business;but I want to make you friends again, and I'm sure you'll apologize toher. "

"Eh? Apologize? Why, of course I will; only too delighted. "

"That's nice of you. I always said you were a nice man, ask Polly if Ididn't. "

"The same to you, my dear, and many of 'em! Come along. "

As if wholly unaware of what was happening Polly had proceededhomewards, not so fast, however, but that the others overtook her withease before she reached the house. 

"How do you do, Miss Sparkes?" began her enemy, not without diffidenceas she turned upon him. "I'm surprised to hear from Miss Waghorn thatsomething I've said or done has riled you, if I may use the expression. I couldn't have meant it; I'm sure I 'umbly beg pardon. "

Strange to say, by this imperfect expression of regret, Miss Sparkesallowed herself to be mollified. Presenting a three-quarter countenancewith a forbearing smile, she answered in the formula of her class:

"Oh, I'm sure it's granted. "

"There now, we're all friends again, " said Carrie Waghorn. "MissSparkes is living with me for the present, Mr. Gammon. There'll bechanges before long"--she looked about her with prudishembarrassment--"but, of course, we shall be seeing you again. Do youknow the address, Mr. Gammon?"

She mentioned the number of the house, and carefully repeated it, whilst Polly turned away as if the conversation did not interest her. Thereupon Mr. Gammon bade them good night, and went his way, marvellingthat Polly Sparkes had all at once become so placable. Was it astratagem to throw him off his guard and bring him into the clutches ofsome avenger one of these nights? One never knew what went on in theminds of such young women as Polly. 

Next morning he had another surprise, a letter from his friendGreenacre, inviting him, with many phrases of studious politeness, todine that day at a great hotel, the hour eight o'clock, and begging himto reply by telegram addressed to the same hotel. This puzzled Gammon, yet less than it could have done at an earlier stage of theiracquaintance. He had abandoned the hope of explaining Greenacre'smysterious circumstances, and the attempt to decide whether his storieswere worthy of belief or not. Half suspecting that he might be thevictim of a hoax he telegraphed an acceptance, and thought no more ofthe matter until evening approached. Part of his day was spent inhelping a distracted shopkeeper on the verge of failure to obtainindulgence from certain of his creditors he also secured a place aserrand boy for the son of a poor woman with whom he had lodged untilher house was burnt down one Bank Holiday; and he made a trip toHammersmith to give evidence at the police-court for a friend chargedwith assaulting a policeman. Just before eight o'clock, after a hastywash and brush up at a public lavatory, he presented himself at thegreat hotel, where, from a lounge in the smoking-room, Greenacre roseto welcome him. Greenacre indubitably, but much better dressed thanGammon had ever seen him, and with an air of lively graciousness whichwas very impressive. The strange fellow offered not a word ofexplanation, but chatted as though their meeting in such places as thiswere an everyday occurrence. 

"I have something interesting to tell you, " he observed, when they wereseated in the brilliant dining-room, with olives, sardines, and thelike to toy with before the serious commencement of their meal. "Youremember--when was it? not long ago--asking me about a family namedQuodling?"

"Of course I do. It was only the other day at--"

"Ah, just so, yes, " interposed Greenacre, suavely ignoring thelocality. "You know my weakness for looking up family histories. Ihappened to be talking with my friend Beeching yesterday--AldhamBeeching, you know, the Q. C. --and Quodling came into my head. Imentioned the name. It was as I thought. I had, you know, a vaguerecollection of Quodling as connected with a lawsuit when I was a boy. Beeching could tell me all about it. "

"Well, what was it?"

"Queer story. A Mrs. Quodling, a widow, or believed to be a widow, camein for a large sum of money under the will of Lord Polperro, the secondbaron--uncle, I am told, of his present lordship. This will wascontested by the family; a very complicated affair, Beeching tells me. Mrs. Quodling, whose character was attacked, declared that she knewLord Polperro in an honourable way, and that he had taken a greatinterest in her children--two young boys. Now these boys were producedin court, then it was seen--excellent soup this--that they bore littleif any resemblance to each other; and at the same time it was madeevident, by exhibition of a portrait, that the younger boy had a facewith a strong likeness to the testator, and many witnesses declared thesame. Interesting, isn't it?"

"For the widow, " remarked Gammon. 

"Uncommonly awkward, though she gained her case for all that. Polperro, it seems, had a shady reputation--heavy drinker, and so on. There werestrong characteristics--some peculiarity of the nose. The old chap usedto say that there was the nose of the Bourbons and the nose of theTrefoyles, his family name. "

"What name?"

"Trefoyle. Cornish, you know. Rum lot they always seem to have been. Barony created by George III for some personal service. The firstPolperro is said to have lived a year or two as a gipsy, and at anothertime as a highwayman. There's a portrait of him, Beeching tells me, insomebody's history of Cornwall, showing to perfection the Trefoylenose. "

"Same as Quodling's, then, " exclaimed Gammon. "Quodling, the broker?"

"Precisely. I would suggest, my dear fellow, that you don't speak quiteso loud. Francis Quodling was the boy who so strongly resembled theLord Polperro of the lawsuit. Nose with high arch, and something queerabout the nostril. "

"Yes! and hanged if it isn't just the same as--"

A deprecatory gesture from his friend stopped Gammon on the point ofuttering the name "Clover. " Again he had sinned against the proprietiesby unduly raising his voice, and he subsided in confusion. 

"You were going to say?" murmured the host politely. 

"Oh, nothing. There's a man I know has just the same nose, that's all. "

"That's very interesting. And considering the Polperro reputation, itwouldn't surprise me to come across a good many such noses. Youremember my favourite speculation. It comes in very well here, doesn'tit? Is all this information of any service to you?"

"Much obliged to you for your trouble. I don't know that I can make anyuse of it; but yes, it does give a sort of hint. "

On reflection Gammon decided to keep the matter to himself. He had sethis mind on discovering Mrs. Clover's husband, and was all the moredetermined to perform this feat since the recent events in KenningtonRoad. Mrs. Clover had treated him unkindly; he would prove to her thatthis had no effect upon his zeal in her service. Polly Sparkes wasmaking fun of him, and the laugh should yet be on his side. Greenacre, with his mysterious connexions, might be of use, but must not beallowed to run away with the credit of the discovery. As for thesestories about Lord Polperro, it might turn out that Clover wasillegitimately related to the noble family--no subject for boasting, though possibly an explanation of his strange life. If Polly werereally in communication with him--"Ho, ho! Very good! Ha, ha!"

"What now?" asked Greenacre. 

"Nothing! Queer fancy I had. "

After dinner they smoked together for an hour, the host talkingincessantly, and for the most part in a vein of reminiscence. To hearhim one would have supposed that he had always lived in the society ofdistinguished people; never a word referring to poverty or meanemployment fell from his lips. 

"Poor Bolsover!" he remarked. "Did I tell you that I had a very kindletter from his widow?"

"I haven't seen you since. "

"Ah, no, to be sure. I wrote, or rather I left a card at the townhouse. Charming letter in reply. The poor lady is still quite young. She was a Thompson of Derbyshire. I never knew the family at all well. "

Gammon mused, and it occurred to him in his knowledge of the world thatGreenacre's connexion with the house of Bolsover might be that of abegging-letter writer. There might have been some slight acquaintancein years gone by between this strange fellow and young LordBolsover--subsequently made a source of profit. Perchance, Greenacre'sprosperity at this moment resulted from a skilful appeal to the widowedlady. 

Inclined to facetiousness by a blend of choice beverages, Gammon couldnot resist a joke at the moment when he took leave. 

"Been out with the 'Saponaria' van to-day?" he enquired innocently. 

Greenacre looked steadily at him with eyes of gentle reproach. 

"I'm afraid I don't understand that allusion, " he replied gravely. "Isit a current jest? I am not much in the way of hearing that kind ofthing. By the by, let me know if I can help you in any moregenealogies. "

"I will. So long, old man. "

And with a wink--an undeniable wink, an audacious wink--Mr. Gammonsallied from the hotel. 

Before going to bed he wrote a letter--a letter to Miss Sparkes. Wouldshe see him the day after to-morrow, Sunday, if he strolled alongShaftesbury Avenue at ten a. M. ? It would greatly delight him, andperhaps she might be persuaded to take a little jaunt to Dulwich andlook at his bow-wows. 

CHAPTER XII

POLLY CONDESCENDS

There was time enough for Polly to reply to this invitation, but replyshe did not. None the less, Gammon was walking about near her lodgingsat ten o'clock on Sunday morning. It seemed to him that he once ortwice perceived a face at an upper window, but at a quarter past thehour Miss Sparkes had not come forth. He was on the point of goingboldly to the door when a recognizable figure approached--that of Mr. Nibby. The men hailed each other. 

"Waiting for somebody?" inquired the representative of the Gillingwaterburner, a twinkle in his eye. 

To avoid the risk of complications Gammon avowed that he was lookingout for Miss Sparkes, with whom he wanted a word on private business. 

"First rate!" exclaimed Mr. Nibby. "She's coming along with MissWaghorn and me to my brother's at 'Endon--the "Blue Anchor"; do youknow it? Nice little property. You'll have to join us; first rate. I'monly afraid it may rine. Do you think it will rine?"

"May or may not, " replied Gammon, staring at the clouds and thinkingover the situation as it concerned himself. "If it's going to rine, itwill, you know. "

"That's true. I'll just let 'em know I'm here. "

But at this moment the two young ladies came forth, blushing andresplendent. Hats were doffed and hands were shaken. 

"Why, is that you, Mr. Gammon?" cried Carrie Waghorn when the ceremonywas over, as if only just aware of his presence. "Well, this is asurprise, isn't it, Polly?"

Miss Sparkes seemed barely to recognize Mr. Gammon, but of necessityshe took a place by his side, and walked on with a rhythmic tossing ofthe head, which had a new adornment--a cluster of great blue flowers, unknown to the botanist, in the place of her everyday poppies. 

"If you don't want me, " remarked Gammon, glancing at her, "you've onlyto say so, and I'm off. "

Polly looked up at the sky, and answered with a question. 

"Do you think it's going to rine?"

"Shouldn't wonder. "

"Well, you are polite. "

"What's the rine got to do with politeness? I say, why didn't youanswer my letter?"

"I pay no attention to impertinence, " replied Miss Sparkes haughtily. 

"Oh, that's it? Never mind; we shall get on better presently. I say, Polly, do you see you've left marks on my face?"

Polly set her lips and kept a severe silence. 

"I don't mind 'em, " Gammon continued. "Rather proud of 'em. If anybodyasks me how I got the scratches--"

The girl looked sharply at him. 

"Do you mean to say you'd tell? Well, if you call that gentlemanly--"

"Wouldn't tell the truth, Polly, not for as many kisses as there arescratches, my dear. "

Polly bridled--young women of her class still bridle--but looked ratherpleased. And Gammon chuckled to himself, thinking that all went well. 

The rain came, but for all that they had a day of enjoyment, spentchiefly in an arbour, not quite rainproof, on the skittle-ground behindthe "Blue Anchor" at Hendon. Continuous was the popping of corks, andfrequent were the outbursts of hilarity. Polly did not abandon herreserve with Mr. Gammon; now and then she condescended to smile at hissallies of wit, whereas she screamed at a joke from others. Thelandlord of the "Blue Anchor" was a widower of about thirty, and hadsome claims to be considered a lady's man; to him Polly directed herfriendly looks and remarks with a freedom which could not but exciteattention. 

"Is that the fellow that's going to give me a thrashing?" Gammon askedof her at length in an aside. 

"Don't be a silly, " she answered, turning her back. 

"Because, if so, I'd better get the start of him. There's a convenientbit of ground here. "

He spoke with such seeming seriousness that Polly showed alarm. 

"Don't be a silly, Mr. Gammon. If you misbehave yourself, I'll neverspeak to you again. "

"Well, what I want to know is, am I to be on guard? Am I to mind my eyewhenever I'm near you?"

He spoke as if with a real desire to be relieved from apprehension. Atthis moment their companions had drawn apart, and they could converseunheard. 

"You know very well what you deserve, " replied Polly, looking askanceat him. "And if such a thing ever was to happen again--well, you'd see, that's all. "

Therewith the peace, or at all events the truce, was concluded, andMiss Sparkes allowed herself to meet Mr. Gammon's advances withfrankness and appreciation. The fact that he did unmistakably makeadvances secretly surprised her, but not more than Gammon was surprisedto find himself coming into favour. 

A few days later the opportunity for which he waited came to pass, andhe was invited to an interview with Quodling and Son; that is to say, with a person who was neither Quodling nor Quodling's son, but held aposition of authority at their place of business in Norton Folgate. Whenever the chance was given him of applying personally for any postthat he desired, Mr. Gammon felt a reasonable assurance of success. Honesty was written broadly upon his visage; capability declared itselfin his speech. He could win the liking and confidence of any ordinaryman of business in ten minutes. It happened, fortunately, that the firmof Quodling needed just such a representative. As Gammon knew, they hadbeen unlucky in their town traveller of late, and they looked just nowmore to the "address, " the personal qualities, of an applicant for theposition, than to his actual acquaintance with their business, whichwas greatly a matter of routine. Mr. Gammon was accepted on trial, andin a day or two began his urban travels. 

Particular about the horses he drove, Gammon saw with pleasure theyoung dark-bay cob, stylishly harnessed, which pawed delicately as hemounted the neat little trap put at his disposal. It is the blessednessof a mind and temper such as his that the things which charm at thebeginning of life continue to give pleasure, scarce abated, as long asthe natural force remains. At forty years of age Gammon set off abouthis business with all the zest of a healthy boy. The knowledge he hadgained, all practical, and, so to speak, for external application, could never become the burden of the philosopher; if he had any wisdomat all it consisted in the lack of self-consciousness, the animalacceptance of whatever good the hour might bring. He and his bay cobwere very much on the same footing; granted but a method ofcommunication and they would have understood each other. Even so withhis "bow-wows, " as he called them. He rose superior to horse and dogmainly in that one matter of desire for a certain kind of femalecompanionship; and this strain of idealism, naturally enough, was thecause of almost the only discontent he ever knew. 

Joyously he rattled about the highways and by-ways of greater London. The position he had now obtained was to become a "permanency"; toQuodling & Son he could attach himself, making his servicesindispensable. One of these days--not just yet--he would look in atMrs. Clover's and see whether she still kept in the same resentful mindtowards him. It was an odd thing that nowadays he gave more thought toMrs. Clover than to Minnie. The young girl glimmered very far away, ata height above him; he had made a mistake and frankly recognized it. But Mrs. Clover, his excellent friend of many years, shone with no suchsuperiority, and was not above rebuke for any injustice she might dohim. Probably by this time she had forgotten her fretfulness, a resultof overstrung nerves. She would ask his pardon--and ought to do so. 

He thought of Polly Sparkes, but always with a peculiar smile, inclining to a grimace. Polly had "come round" in the most astonishingway. But she would "come round" yet more before he had done with her. His idea was to take Polly to Dulwich and show her the bow-wows; he sawpossibilities of a quiet meal together at the inn. The difficulty wasto reassure her natural tremors, without losing the ground he hadgained by judicious approaches. 

About the middle of July he prevailed upon her to accept hisinvitation, and to come alone, though Polly continued to declare thatshe hated dogs, and that she had never in her life gone to so remoteand rural a spot as Dulwich without a "lady friend" to keep her incountenance. 

"Everything must have a beginning, " said Gammon merrily. 

"If you let those people know, I'll never speak to you again. "

She referred to Mrs. Bubb and her household, of whom she had neverceased to speak with animus. 

"Honour bright, they shan't hear a whisper of it. "

So on a Sunday morning they made the journey by omnibus for the sake ofthe fresh air, Polly remarking again and again on her greatcondescension, reaffirming her dislike of dogs, and declaring that if adrop of rain fell she would turn about homeward forthwith. None theless did she appear to find pleasure in Mr. Gammon's society. If hisgossip included a casual mention of some young lady, a friend of his, she pressed for information concerning that person, and never seemedquite satisfied with what she was told about her. Slyly observant ofthis, her companion multiplied his sportive allusions, and was amusedto find Polly grow waspish. Then again he soothed her with solidflattery; nothing of the kind was too gross for Polly's appetite. Andso conversing they shortened the journey to remote Dulwich. 

With gathered skirts and a fear, partly real but more affected, MissSparkes entered the yard where Gammon's dogs were kept. (As a matter offact he shared in their ownership with the landlord of thepublic-house, a skilful breeder. ) When puppies gambolled about her shewoke the echoes with a scream. From a fine terrier, a "game" dog whoselatest exploit was the killing of a hundred rats in six minutes, shebacked trembling, and even put out a hand to Gammon as if forprotection. Polly's behaviour, indeed, was such as would have beenproper in a fine lady forty years ago, the fashion having descended toher class just as fashions in costume are wont to do at a shorterinterval. When Gammon begged her to feel the "feather" of a beautifulcollie she at length did so with great timidity, and a moment after, toshow how doggy she was becoming, she spoke of the "feather" of a littleblack-and-tan, whereat Gammon smiled broadly. On the whole they muchenjoyed themselves, and had a good appetite at dinner time. 

The meal was laid for them in a small private room, which smeltprincipally of stale tobacco and stale chimney soot. The water-bottleon the table was encrusted with a white enamel advertisement ofsomebody's whisky, and had another such recommendation legible on itsbase. The tray used by the girl in attendance was enamelled with thename of somebody's brandy. On the walls hung three brightly-colouredcalendars, each an advertisement: one of sewing machines, one of apopular insurance office, one of a local grocery business. The othermural adornments were old coloured pictures of racehorses and fadedphotographs of dogs. A clock on the mantelpiece (not going) showedacross its face the name of a firm that dealt in aerated waters. 

Coarse and plentiful were the viands, and Polly did justice to them. She had excellent teeth, a very uncommon thing in girls of her kind;but Polly's parents were of country origin. With these weapons shefeared not even the pastry set before her, which it was just possibleto break with an ordinary fork. 

Towards the end Gammon grew silent and meditative. He kept gazing atthe windows as if for aid in some calculation. When Polly at last threwdown her cheese-knife, glowing with the thought that she had dined wellat somebody else's expense, he leaned forward on the table, looked herin the eyes, and began a momentous dialogue. 

CHAPTER XIII

GAMMON THE CRAFTY

"What did you want to do such a silly thing as that for?"

Polly stared in astonishment. 

"What d'you mean?"

"Why did you let out to Mrs. Clover what you knew?"

The girl's colour deepened by a shade (it was already rich), and hereyes grew alarmed, suspicious, watchful. 

"I didn't let out what I knew, " she answered rather confused. 

It was Gammon's turn to watch keenly. 

"Not all, of course not, " he remarked slyly. "But why couldn't you keepit to yourself that you'd met him?"

Polly's eyes wandered. Gammon smiled with satisfaction. 

"I'd have kept that to myself, " he said in a friendly way. "I know howit was, of course; you got riled and came out with it. A great pity. She had all but forgot him; now she'll never rest till she's found himout. And you might have seen how much more to your advantage it was tokeep a thing like that quiet. "

Unwonted mental disturbance was playing tricks with Polly's complexion. She evidently feared to compromise herself, and at the same timedesired to know all that was in her companion's mind. 

"What business is it of yours?" was the crude phrase that at lengthfell from her lips, uttered half-heartedly, between resentment andjesting. 

"Well, there's the point, " replied Gammon, with a laugh. "Queer thing, but it just happens to be particular business of mine. "

Polly stared. He nodded. 

"There's such a thing, Polly, as going halves in a secret. I've beenwondering these last few days whether I should tell you or not. Butwe're getting on so well together--eh? Better than I expected, for one. I shouldn't feel I was doing right, Polly, if I took any advantage ofyou. "

She was growing excited. Her wiles had given way before superiorstratagem, and perhaps before something in herself that played traitor. 

"You mean you know about him?" she asked, almost confidentially. 

"Not all I want to--yet. He's a sharp customer. But considerably morethan you do, Polly, my dear. "

"I don't believe you!"

"That has nothing to do with it. Suppose you ask me a question or two. I might be able to tell you something you would like to know. "

It was said, of course, without any suspicion of the real state ofthings; but Gammon saw at once that he had excited an eager curiosity. 

"You know where he is, then?" asked Polly. 

"Well--we'll say so. "

"Where? When did _you_ see him last?"

"We're going too quickly, old girl. The question is, When did you seehim last?"

"Ah! you'd like to know, wouldn't you?"

Gammon burst out laughing, ever the surest way of baffling a sillywoman. Polly grew hot with anger, then subsided into mortification. Sheknew the weakness of her position, and inclined ever more to make anally of the man who had overcome her in battle and carried her off inhis arms. 

"And the other question is, " Gammon proceeded, as if enjoying a hugejoke, "When did you see him first?"

"I suppose you know?" she murmured reluctantly. 

"Let us suppose I do. And suppose I am trying to make up my mind aboutthe best way of dealing with the little affair. As I told you, I wishMrs. Clover didn't know about it; but that's your doing. Our friend, Mr. C. , wouldn't thank you. "

"He knows, then, does he?" cried Polly. 

"Mr. C. Knows a great many things, my dear. He was not born yesterday. Now, see here, Polly. We're both of us in this, and we'd better bestraight with each other. I am no friend of Mr. C. , but I am a friendof yours, and if you can help me to get a bit tighter hold of him--Yes, yes, I'll tell you presently. The question is, Whether I can dependupon what he says? Of course, I know all about you; I want to know moreabout him. Now, is it true that you saw him first at the theatre?"

Polly nodded, and Gammon congratulated himself on his guess. 

"And--he wasn't alone?"

"No. "

"Just what I thought. "

"He says he was alone--eh?" asked Polly with eagerness. 

"I guess why. Now who was with him, old girl?"

A moment's sulky hesitation and Polly threw away all reserve. 

"There was two ladies--if they were ladies; at all events, they wasdressed like it. Oldish, both of 'em. One was a foreigner. I know thatbecause I heard her speak; and it wasn't English. The other one spokeback to her in the same way, but I heard her speak English too. And shewas the one as sat next to him. "

"Good, Polly, we're getting on. And how did you notice him?"

"Well, it was like this, " she began to narrate with vivacity. "Ioffered him a programme--see?--and he gave me half a sovereign andlooked up at me, as much as to say he'd like change. And I'd no soonermet his eyes than I knew him. How could I help? He don't look to havechanged a bit. And I saw as he knew me. I saw it by a queer sort ofwink he give. And then he looked at me frightened like--didn't he just!Of course, I didn't say nothing, but I kept standing by him a minute ortwo. And I'd forgot all about the change till he said to me, with asort of look, 'You may keep that, ' he said, and I says, 'Thank you, sir, ' and nearly laughed. "

"Not a bad tip, eh, Polly?"

"Oh, I've had as good before, " she replied, with a brief return to theold manner. 

"No doubt he enjoyed himself that evening. He kept spying round foryou, didn't he?"

"I saw him look once or twice, and I give him a look back, but Icouldn't do much more then; I said to myself I'd keep my eye on him tosee if he came out after the first act. And sure enough he did, andthere was me standing in his way, and he put his hand out to give mesomething, and just nodded and went on. It wasn't money, but a bit ofpaper twisted up and something wrote on it in pencil. "

"I thought so, and where were you to meet him?"

"Well, I knew there couldn't be no harm, him being my own uncle, " Pollyreplied with the air of repelling an accusation. 

"Of course not; who said there was?"

"Well, it was Lincoln's Inn Fields, the next night. And there he was, sure enough, with his face half hid as if he was ashamed of himself, aswell he might be. And he begins with saying as he was very ill and hedidn't think he'd live long. But I wasn't to think as he forgot me, andwhen he died I should find myself provided for. And I wasn't to say aword to nobody or he'd take my name out of his will at once. "

Gammon laughed. 

"It's all right, Polly. Don't be afraid. All between me and you. ButI'll bet he didn't tell you where he was living?"

She shook her head. 

"Of course not, I knew that, " said Gammon, with a mysterious air. "Well, go on. He met you again, didn't he?"

"Once more, only once. "

"Yes, and gave you little presents and told you to be a good gyurl andnever disgrace your uncle. Oh, I know him! But he took precious goodcare not to let you know where he lived. "

"But you know?" she exclaimed. 

"No fear, Polly. You shall, too, if you have patience, though I don'tsay it'll be just yet. "

A few more questions, and the girl had told everything--Mr. Clover'sfailure to keep the third appointment and her fruitless watchings sincethen. 

"He got a bit timid, Polly, you see, " exclaimed Gammon. "And he wasright, too; you couldn't keep it to yourself, you see. You spoileverything with that temper of yours, my dear. Don't be cross, mybeauty; it don't matter much, comes to the same thing in the end. Nowjust look here, Polly. You haven't seen those two ladies again, noreither one of them?"

"You're wrong there, " she cried triumphantly. 

"Hollo! Steady, Polly. It wasn't the foreigner then?"

"How did you know?"

Gammon chuckled over his good luck. 

"Never mind. We'll come to that another time. Who was she with, mydear?"

"Another lady and gentleman, much younger than her. I stood near 'em aslong as I could and listened with all my ears, but I couldn't hearnothing any use. But I saw as they went away in a private kerridge, allthree together; I saw that much. "

"And found where they went to?"

"Go along. How could I?"

"Might have been managed, Polly, " he answered musingly. "Never mind, better luck next time. What you've got to do, my angel, is to findwhere that lady lives--the one that sat next our friend, you know, notthe foreigner. Keep your eyes open, Polly, and be smart, and if youtell me where she lives then I shall have something more to say to you. It's between me and you, my beauty. You just bring me that little bitof information and you won't regret it. "

CHAPTER XIV

MR. PARISH PURSUES A BROUGHAM

Christopher Parish lived at home, that is to say, he was not a lodgerunder an alien roof, like the majority of such young men in London, butabode with his own people--his mother, his elder brother, and hisbrother's wife. They had a decent little house in Kennington, managed--rather better than such houses generally are--by Mrs. Parishthe younger, who was childless, and thus able to devote herself to whatshe called "hyjene, " a word constantly on her lips and on those of herhusband. Mr. Theodore Parish, aged about five-and-thirty, was an auditclerk in the offices of a railway company, and he loved to expatiate onthe hardship of his position, which lay in the fact that he could nothope for a higher income than one hundred and fifty pounds, and thisdespite the trying and responsible nature of the duties he discharged. After dwelling upon this injustice he would add, with peculiar gravity, that really in certain moods one all but inclined to give a hearing tothe arguments of socialistic agitators. In other moods, and these morefrequent, Mr. Parish indulged in native optimism, tempered by anxietyin matters of "hyjene. " He was much preoccupied with the laundryquestion. 

"Now, are you quite sure, Ada, that this laundress is a conscientiouswoman? Does she manage her establishment on modern principles? I begyou will make a personal inspection. If ever a laundress refuses to letyou make a personal inspection be sure there is something wrong. Justthink how vital it is, this washing question. We send our clothes, ourpersonal garments, to a strange house to be mixed with--"

And so on at great length, Mrs. Theodore listening patiently andapprovingly. With equal solicitude did they discuss the food upon theirtable. 

"Theo, I shall have to change our baker. "

"Ah, indeed! Why?"

"I hardly like to tell you, but perhaps I had better. I have only justfound out that a sewer-trap quite close to his shop gives out a mostoffensive _affluvia_, especially in this hot weather. The air must befull of germs. I hardly know whet her we ought to eat even this loaf. What do you think?"

Every one's dinner was spoilt. Theodore declared that really, when oneconsidered the complicated and expensive machinery of local government, if sewer traps and _affluvias_ were allowed to exist in the immediateneighbourhood of bakers' shops, why it really made one inclined tothink and ask whether there might not be something in the arguments ofthe Socialists. 

Christopher one day brought home some knickknack which he had boughtfrom a City pedlar, one of those men who stand at the edge of thepavement between a vigilant police and a menacing vehicular traffic. Itamused his sister-in-law, who showed it to her husband. Theodore havinglearnt whence it came was not a little concerned. 

"Now, if that isn't like Christopher! When will that boy learn ordinaryprudence? The idea of buying things from a man whose clothes morelikely than not reek with infection! Dear me! Has he never reflectedwhere those fellows live? Destroy the thing at once and wash your handsvery carefully, I beg. I do hope you haven't been making pastry orlemonade? As if the inevitable risks of life were not enough. "

It was, of course, utterly unsuspected by the elder members of thehousehold that Christopher had "formed a connexion, " in so innocent asense, with a young woman who sold programmes and took tips at thetheatre. That connexion had come about in the simplest way. One Sundayevening, a year ago, Christopher was returning from Clapham Common onthe top of a crowded tram, and next to him sat a girl with a freshcolour, whom he eyed with respectfully furtive admiration. This youngperson had paid her fare, but carelessly dropped the ticket, and itchanced that an inspector who came on board at a certain point raisedthe question whether she had really paid. The conductor weaklyexpressed a doubt, suggesting that this passenger had ascended with twoor three other people since his last collection of fares. Here was achance for young Mr. Parish, who could give conscientious evidence. Very hot in the face, he declared, affirmed, and asseverated that theyoung lady was telling the truth, and his energy at length prevailed. Of course, this led to colloquy between the two. Polly Sparkes, for sheit was, behaved modestly but graciously. It was true she had exhibitedshort temper in her passage with the officials, but Christopher thoughtthis a becoming spirit. In his eyes she was lovely, and could donothing amiss. When she alighted he did so too, frowning upon theconductor by way of final rebuke. Their ways appeared to be the same, as if inadvertently they walked together along Kennington Road. And sopleasant was their conversation that Polly went some way past Mrs. Bubb's before saying that she must bid her new companion good-bye. Trembling at his audacity, Christopher humbly put the question whetherhe might not hope to see the young lady again; and Polly laughed andtittered, and said she didn't know, but _p'r'aps_. Thereupon Mr. Parishnervously made an offering of his name and address, and Polly, tittering again, exclaimed that they lived quite near each other, andplayfully made known the position of her dwelling. So were theproprieties complied with, and so began the enslavement of Christopher. 

He had since told all there was to tell about his family andcircumstances, Polly in return throwing out a few vague hints as to herown private affairs. Christopher would have liked to invite her to hishome, but lacked courage; his mother, his brother, and Mrs. Theodore--what would they say? The rigour of their principles overawedhim. He often thought of abandoning his home, but neither for that stephad he the necessary spirit of independence. Miss Sparkes no longerseemed to him of virtues compact; he sadly admitted in his wakefulhours that she had a temper; he often doubted whether she ever gave hima serious thought. But the fact remained that Polly did not send himabout his business, and at times even seemed glad to see him, untilthat awful night when, by deplorable accident, he encountered her nearLincoln's Inn. That surely was the end of everything. Christopher, after tottering home he knew not how, wept upon his pillow. Of coursehe was jealous as well as profoundly hurt. Not without some secretreason had Polly met him so fiercely, brutally. He would try to thinkof her no more; she was clearly not destined to be his. 

For a full fortnight he shunned the whole region of London in whichPolly might be met. He was obliged, of course, to pass each night inKennington, but he kept himself within doors there. Then he could bearhis misery no longer. Three lachrymose letters had elicited noresponse; he wrote once more, and thus:

DEAREST MISS SPARKES, If you do not wish to be the cause of my death I hereby ask you to seeme, if only for the very shortest space of time. If you refuse I know Ishall do something rash. To-night and tomorrow night at half-past ten Iwill be standing at the south end of Westminster Bridge. The _river_will be near me if _you_ are not; remember that. 

Yours for now and eternity, C. J. P. 

To this dread summons Polly at length yielded. She met Christopher, andthey paced together on the embankment in front of St. Thomas'sHospital. It rained a little, and was so close that they both drippedwith perspiration. 

"P'r'aps I was a bit short with you, " Polly admitted after listening toher admirer's remonstrances, uttered in a choking voice. "But I can'tstand being spied after, and spied after I won't be. "

"I have told you, Polly, at the very least sixty or seventy times, thatI've never done such a thing, and wouldn't, and couldn't. It never cameinto my 'ead. "

"Well, then, we won't say no more about it, and don't put me out again, that's all. "

"But there's something else, Polly. You know very well, Polly, what alot I think of you, don't you now?"

"Oh, I dessay, " she replied with careless indulgence. 

"Then why won't you let me see you oftener, and--and that kind ofthing, you know?"

This was vague, but perfectly intelligible to the hearer. She gave animpatient little laugh. 

"Oh, don't be silly! Go on!"

"But it isn't silly. You know what I mean. And you said--"

"There you go, bringing up what I said. Don't worry me. If you can'ttalk quiet and friendly we'd better not see each other at all. Ishouldn't wonder if that was best for both of us. "

Polly had never been less encouraging. She seemed preoccupied, andspoke in an idle, inattentive way. Her suggestion that they should"part friends, " though she returned upon it several times, did notsound as if it were made in earnest, and this was Christopher's onesolace. 

"Will you meet me reg'lar once a week, " he pleaded, "just for a talk?"

"No, it's too often. "

"I know what that means, " exclaimed the young man in the bitterness ofhis soul. "There's somebody else. Yes, that's it; there's somebodyelse. "

"Well, and what if there was?" asked Polly, looking far away. "I don'tsee as it would be any business of yours. "

"Oh, just listen to that!" cried Christopher. "That's how a girl talksto you when she knows you're ready to jump into the river! It's mybelief that girls haven't much feeling. "

The outrageous audacity of this avowal saved the speaker from Polly'sindignation. She saw that he was terribly driven, and, in spite ofherself, once more softened towards him; for Polly had never dislikedMr. Parish; from the very first his ingenuous devotedness excited inher something, however elementary, of reciprocal feeling. She thoughthim comely to look upon, and had often reflected upon how pleasant itwas to rule a man by her slightest look or word. To be sure, Christopher's worldly position was nothing to boast of; but one' knewhim for the steady, respectable young clerk, who is more likely thannot to advance by modest increments of salary. Miss Sparkes would haveperceived, had she been capable of intellectual perception, thatChristopher answered fairly well to one of her ideals. Others therewere, which tended to draw her from him, but she had never yetdeliberately turned her back upon the young man. 

So now, instead of answering bitterness with wrath, she spoke moregently than of wont. 

"Don't take on in that way, you'll only have a headache to-morrow. Ican't promise to meet you regular, but you can write, and I'll let youknow when I'm ready for a talk. There now, won't that do?"

Christopher had to make it do, and presently accepted the conditionswith tolerable grace. Before they parted Polly even assured him that ifever there _was_ anyone else she would deal honestly with him and lethim know. This being as much as to say that he might still hope, Christopher cast away his thoughts of self-destruction, and went homewith an appetite for a late supper. 

Two months elapsed before anything of moment occurred in the relationsthus established. Then at one of their brief meetings Polly delightedthe young man by telling him that he might wait for her outside thetheatre on a certain evening of the same week. Hitherto such awaitingshad been forbidden. 

"Won't I, just!" cried Mr. Parish. "And you'll come and have somesupper?"

"I can't promise; I may want to ask you to do something for me. Justyou be ready, that's all. "

He promised exultingly, and when the evening came took up his positiona full hour before Polly could be expected to come forth. 

Now this was the first night of a new piece at Polly's theatre, andshe, long watching in vain for the reappearance of the lady whoseaddress she was to discover for Mr. Gammon, thought it a very possiblething that a person who had been twice to see the old entertainmentmight attend the first performance of the new. Her mysterious uncle hadnever again communicated with her, and Polly began to doubt what Mr. Gammon's knowledge really was; but she had given her confidence beyondrecall, and, though with many vicissitudes of feeling, she still wishedto keep Gammon sole ally in this strange affair. Once or twice indeedshe had felt disposed to tell Christopher that there was "someoneelse"; but nothing Gammon had said fully justified this, and Polly, though an emotional young woman, had a good deal of prudence. One thingwas certain, she very much desired to bring her old enemy to the pointof a declaration. How she would receive it when it came she could notwholly determine. 

Her conjecture regarding the unknown lady was justified. Among thefirst who entered the stalls was a man whom Polly seemed to remember, and close behind him came first a younger lady, then the one for whomher eyes had searched night after night. In supplying them withprogrammes Polly observed and listened with feverish attention. Theelder woman had slightly grizzled hair; her age could not be less thanfifty, but she was in good health and spirits. With the intention ofdescribing her to Gammon, Polly noticed that she had a somewhatmasculine nose, high in the bridge. 

A quarter of an hour before the end of the piece Polly, dressed fordeparture, came forth and discovered her faithful slave. 

"Now listen to me, " she said, checking his blandishments. "I told youthere might be something to do for me, and there is. "

Parish was all eagerness. 

"There'll be three people coming out from the stalls, a gentleman andtwo ladies. I'll show you them--see? They'll drive off in akerridge--see? And I want you to find out where they go. "

Nothing could have been more startling to Christopher, in whose mindbegan a whirl of suspicions and fears. 

"Why? What for?" he asked involuntarily. 

Polly was short with him. 

"All right, if you won't do it say so, and I'll ask somebody else. I'veno time to lose. "

He gasped and stammered. Yes, yes, of course he would do it. He had notdreamt of refusing. He would run after the carriage, however far. 

"Don't be a silly. You'll have to take a 'ansom and tell the driver tofollow--see?"

Yes, oh, yes, of course. He would do so. He trembled with excessivenervousness, and but for the sharp, contemptuous directions given himby Miss Sparkes must have hopelessly bungled the undertaking. Indeed, it was not easy to carry out in the confusion before a theatre when theaudience is leaving, and bearing in mind the regulations concerningvehicles. Their scheme was based upon the certainty that the carriagemust proceed at a very moderate pace for some two or three hundredyards; within that limit or a very little beyond it--at all events, before his breath was exhausted--Christopher would certainly be able tohail a cab. 

"Tell the cabby they're friends of yours, " said Polly, "and you'regoing to the same 'ouse. You look quite respectable enough with your'igh 'at. That's what I like about you; you always look respectable. "

"But--but he will set me down right beside the people. "

"Well, what if he does, gooseberry? Can't you just pay him quietly?They'll think you're for next door. "

"But--but it may be a big house by itself somewhere. "

"Well, silly. They'll think it's a mistake, that's all. What's thematter in the dark? You do as I tell you. And when you've got to knowthe address--you can take your time about that, of course--come backalong Shaftesbury Avenue and give three knocks at the door, and I'llcome down. "

It flashed through Christopher's mind that he would be terribly late ingetting home, but there was no help for it. If he refused thisundertaking, or failed to carry it out successfully, Polly would casthim off. The gloom of a desperate mood fell upon him. He had thefeeling of a detective or of a criminal, he knew not which; the mysteryof the affair was a hideous oppression. 

Even the initial step, that of watching the trio of strangers intotheir brougham, was not without difficulty. The pavement began to becrowded. Clutching her slave by the arm, Polly managed to hold aposition whence she could see the people who descended the front stepsof the theatre, and at length her energy was rewarded. The ladies shecould not have recognized, for they were muffled against the night air, but their male companion she "spotted"--that was the word in hermind--with certainty. 

"There! See those three? That's them, " she whispered excitedly. "Offyou go!"

And off he went, as if life depended upon it; his eyes on the brougham, his heart throbbing violently, moisture dropping from his forehead andmaking his collar limp. The carriage disengaged itself, the pacequickened, he began to run, and collided with pedestrians who cursedhim. Now--now or never--a cab!

By good luck he plunged into a hansom wanting a fare. 

"The carriage--friends of mine--that carriage!"

"Ketch 'em up?" asked the driver briskly. 

"No--same 'ouse--follow!"

As he flung himself into the vehicle he seriously feared he was on thepoint of breaking a blood vessel, never had he been at such extremityof breath. But his eyes clung to the brougham in dread lest he shouldlose sight of it, or confuse it with another. The driver whipped hishorse. Thank goodness, the carriage remained well in sight. But ifthere should come a block! A perilous point was Piccadilly Circus. Never, it seemed to him, had the streets of London roared with such atumult of traffic. Right! The Circus was passed; now Piccadilly withits blessed quietness. What a speed they kept! Hyde Park Corner, Knightsbridge, and--what road was that? Christopher's geography failedhim; he pretended to no familiarity with the West End. On swept hishansom in what he felt to be a most impudent pursuit; nay, for all heknew, it might subject him to the suspicion of the police. The cabbyneed not follow so close; why, the horse's nose all but touched thebrougham now and then. How much farther? How was he to get back? Hecould not possibly reach home till one in the morning. 

The brougham made a sharp curve, the hansom followed. Then came asudden stop. 

CHAPTER XV

THE NAME OF GILDERSLEEVE

A square--imposing houses about a space of verdure. That was whatChristopher perceived as he looked wildly round, flung back the apron, jumped out. His position was awful; voices of the persons alightingfrom the brougham seemed to sound at his very ear; he had become one ofthe party; the man in evening dress stared at him. But even in thisdread moment so bent was he on fulfilling his mission that he at oncecast an eye over the front of the house to fix it in his memory. Therewas a magnificent display of flowers at every window; the housesimmediately right and left had no flowers at all. 

Then he fumbled for money. Coppers, a sixpence, a shilling, no othersmall change, and he durst not offer so little as eighteenpence. (However, Heaven be thanked! the people had gone in and the broughamwas moving away. ) In his purse he had half a sovereign. 

"Got change?" he inquired as boldly as possible. 

"How much?" returned the driver curtly, for he had noticed withcuriosity that his fare exchanged no greeting with the carriage peopleand that the door was shut. 

"Change for half a sovereign. Seven shillings would do. "

"Ain't got it. See, fourpence in 'apence, that's all. "

The man's eye began to alarm Christopher. He shook with indecision, hegulped down his bitterness, he handed the golden coin. 

"All right; never mind change. "

"Thanky, sir. Good night. "

And Mr. Parish was alone on the pavement. So grievously did he feel forthe loss of that half-sovereign that for some moments he could think ofnothing else. His heart burned against Polly. What had she got to dowith those people in the big house? How could he be sure that it didnot imply some shameful secret? And he must go throwing away hishard-earned money! Gladly he would have spent it on a supper for Polly;but to pay ten shillings for a half-crown drive! A whole blessedhalf-sovereign!

Another carriage drove up and stopped at the next house. Christopherremembered that he must discover the address, an easy matter enough. Hefound that the square was called Stanhope Gardens; he noted the numberof the house with flowers. Then, weary, disgusted, he started on hiseastward walk. Omnibuses, of course, there were none. The chance of atrain at some underground station seemed too doubtful to think about;in any case he had no more money to waste. 

On he plodded, heavily, angrily--Cromwell Road, Brompton Road, at lastPiccadilly, and so into familiar districts, though he had never walkedhere so late at night. Of course there would be nasty questionsto-morrow; Theodore would look grave, and Ada would be virtuously sour, and his mother--but perhaps they would not worry her by disclosing suchthings. Unaccustomed to express himself with violence, Christopher atabout half-past twelve found some relief in a timid phrase or two ofswearing. 

When he reached Shaftesbury Avenue he was dog-tired. The streets hadnow become very quiet; he felt a doubt as to the possibility ofknocking at a house door. But Polly had said he was to do so, be thehour what it might. The front of the house was dark, not a glimmer inany windows. Doubtfully he drew near and knocked thrice. 

Minutes passed, nearly five, in fact, then he knocked again. He wouldwait five minutes more, and then--

But the door softly opened. 

"That you?" said Polly's voice. 

"Yes, it is. "

She opened the door wide, and he saw by the light from the street thatshe was dressed as usual. 

"How late you are! Well? Can't you speak?"

"I'm dead beat, that's the truth, " he replied, leaning against thedoor-post. "Walked back all the way from South Kensington. "

"Oh, it was there, was it?" said Polly, without heed to his complaint. "What's the address?"

"I tell you what, Polly, " broke from Christopher's dry lips, "I thinkyou might show a bit more feeling for a fellow when he's walked himselfto death--"

"You might have took a cab just for this once. "

"A cab! Why, the other one cost me half a sovereign!"

"Half a sovereign!" echoed Polly in amazement. "To South Kensington!"

It did not occur to Mr. Parish that such a detail might be leftunmentioned. In these little matters there is a difference betweenclass and class. Polly was not, of course, surprised at his letting herknow what the mission had cost him, but the sum made her indignant. 

"Well, he had you, that cabby!"

Christopher related the circumstances, still leaning in exhaustionagainst the door-post, and Miss Sparkes, who under no conceivablestress could have suffered herself to be so "done out of" a piece ofgold, scarcely knew whether to despise or to pity him. After all, acompassionate feeling prevailed, sure sign that there was somethingdisinterested in her association with this young man. 

"I'm very sorry, " she said; "I never thought it 'ud cost you that much. "

"I shouldn't care a bit, " Christopher replied, "if you treated mebetter now I've got here. "

Polly moved just a little nearer to him, ever so little, but themovement was appreciable. Unfortunately Christopher was too weary tonotice it. 

"What was the address?" she asked in an undertone, which, had but Mr. Parish understood, fitly accompanied that little movement. 

He told her bluntly, and Polly repeated the words

"And now I suppose I may say good night, " Christopher added, still withdiscontent. 

"Well, thank you very much for getting me that address. "

"But you won't tell me what you want it for?"

"I will some time. I can't just now. It's awful late, and we mustn'tstand talking here. "

Again she came one step nearer. Now if Christopher Parish had not losthalf a Sovereign, or if he had been less worn out, or if the mystery ofthe evening had not lain so heavy on his mind, assuredly he would havenoticed this onward coming; for, as a rule, the young man was sensitiveand perceptive enough, all things considered. Alas! he did not lookinto Polly's face, which in the dusk of the doorway had turned towardshis. 

"I'll be going then, " he muttered. "Good night. Jolly long walk beforeme still. "

"I'm very sorry. I am, really. "

"Oh, never mind! When shall I see you again?"

The crucial moment was past. Polly drew a step back and held the door. 

"I'll write before long. Good night, and thank you. "

Mr. Parish plodded away down the avenue, saying to himself that he wasblest if he'd be made a fool of like this much longer. 

The next morning Polly wrote a line to Mr. Gammon, and two days later, on Sunday, they met in that little strip of garden on the Embankmentwhich lies between Charing Cross Station and Waterloo Bridge. It wasthe first week of October; a cold wind rustled the yellowing planetrees, and open-air seats offered no strong temptation. The twoconversed as they walked along. Polly had not mentioned in her letterany special reason for wishing to see Mr. Gammon, nor did she hasten tomake known her discovery. 

"Why do you wear a 'at like that on a Sunday?" she began by asking, tartly. 

"Because it's comfortable, I suppose, " answered Gammon, reflecting forthe first time that it was not very respectful to come to thisrendezvous in a "bowler. " Polly had never mentioned the matter before, though she had thought about it. "You like the chimney-pot better?"

"Why, of course I do. On a Sunday, too, who wouldn't?"

"I'll bear it in mind, my dear. My chimney-pot wants ironing. Have itdone to-morrow if I can find time. "

Polly scrutinized the costume of a girl walking with a soldier, andasked all at once indifferently:

"Do you know anybody called Gildersleeve?"

"Gildersleeve? Don't think so. No. Why?"

She searched his face to make sure that he did not simulate ignorance. 

"Well, you wanted me to find out where that lady lived--you know--heras was with Mr. C--at the theatre. "

"And you've got it?" cried Gammon excitedly. 

Yes, she had got it, and by consulting a directory at a public-houseshe had discovered the name of the family residing at that address. Gildersleeve? The name conveyed nothing to Mr. Gammon; none the less hewas delighted. 

"Good for you, Polly! But how did you do it?"

She put on an air of mystery. Never mind how; there was the address, ifhe could make any use of it. Gammon smiled provokingly. 

"Some friend of yours, eh? You're well off for friends, Polly. I ask noquestions, my dear; no business of mine. Much obliged to you, all thesame. "

"If you're so particular about who it was, " said Polly, with her air ofpique and propriety, "well, it's a boy. So you needn't look at me likethat. "

"A boy, eh?"

"Well, that's what _I_ think him. He's a young clurk in the City asI've known long enough, and _I_ think him a boy. Of course you'realways ready to believe harm of me--that's nothing new. And if thetruth was known, you go talkin' to Mrs. Bubb and them Cheesemans. "

"I don't! I told you I shouldn't, and I don't!"

"You do!"

"It's a lie!"

"You're one yourself!" retorted Polly with heat. 

Thereupon Mr. Gammon turned about and walked off. Polly could notbelieve that he would really go. Scorning to look back she paced on forsome minutes, but no familiar step approached her; when at length shelooked round Mr. Gammon was nowhere to be seen. This extraordinarybehaviour she attributed to jealousy, and so was not entirelydispleased. But the idea of leaving her in the middle of the street, asone might say! Did one ever! And just after he'd got what he wanted. 

"All right, old fellow! Wait till you want to see me again, that's all. "

To have his word disbelieved was the one thing fatal to Gammon'stemper. He strode off in a towering rage, determined to hold no morecommunication with Miss Sparkes, and blaming himself for having gotinto such an ambiguous position towards her. As if he had ever reallycared one snap of the fingers for the red-headed spitfire! She to tellhim to his face that his word was not to be trusted! He had never stoodthat yet, from man or woman!

At this rate he would presently have no female friends at all. Mrs. Clover he had not once seen since the evening at Mrs. Bubb's, and everyday that went by put a greater distance between them. He understood herunfriendliness; she thought this the best way of destroying any hopeshe might still entertain with reference to Minnie; yes, that was theonly possible explanation of her silence. It was too bad; Mrs. Clovermight have put more faith in him. Now he would not visit her; he wouldnot write. If she wished to see him again, let her acknowledge thewrong she had done him. 

As for the muddle about her husband, be hanged to it! He would think nomore about the business. Ten to one this address that Polly hadobtained would be quite useless. How could he go to strangers (namedGildersleeve) and coolly inquire of them whether they knew a man namedClover? Of course they would have him kicked into the street, and Servehim right. 

Polly and her boy! A young City clerk, eh? Old enough to wear achimney-pot, he'd be bound. Polly was fond of chimney-pots. There, hehad done with her, and with Clover and Quodling and Gildersleeve, andall the rest of the puzzle. 

As he suddenly entered the house Moggie ran to him up the kitchenstairs. 

"There's been a gentleman for you, Mr. Gammon. "

"Oh! Who was it?"

"Mr. Greenacres, driving a trap, and the 'orse wouldn't stand still, and he said he'd see you some other time. "

"Greenacre, eh? All right. "

He sat for a quarter of an hour in his bedroom, unable to decide how heshould spend the rest of the day. After all, perhaps, he ought not tohave abandoned Polly so abruptly. In her own way she had been doing hima kindness, and as for her temper, well, she couldn't help it. 

He would go to Dulwich and see the bow-wows. 

CHAPTER XVI

AN ALLY IN THE QUEST

Commercially he was doing well. Quodling and Son were more thansatisfied with him. Excellent prospects lay ahead, and this time itwould assuredly be his own fault if he had not secured the permanencyso much desired for him by Mrs. Clover. 

By the by, would this make any difference? What if he let Mrs. Cloverknow of his greatly improved position? She might reconsider things. Andyet, as often as he thought of Minnie, he felt that her mother'sobjection corresponded too well with the disposition of the girl. Minnie was not for him. Well and good, he would find somebody else. 

Polly Sparkes? Polly be hanged. Why did her eyes and her teeth and herrosy cheeks keep plaguing him? He had told himself times innumerablethat he cared not a snap of the fingers for Polly and all herhighly-coloured attractions. If only he had not been such a fool as totreat her shabbily last Sunday morning! He felt sorry, and couldn't getrid of the vexation. 

It worried him this afternoon as he left Quodlings in Norton Folgateand walked towards the Bank. He was thinking, too, of a poor fellowwith a large family for whom he had tried these last few days to findemployment, without the usual success. In Threadneedle Street a handarrested him. 

"Just the man I wanted, " said the voice of Mr. Greenacre. He was in anelegant overcoat, with a silk hat of the newest fashion. You rememberyour promise?

"What promise?"

"Nonsense! But we can't talk about it here. Come to the Bilboes. Don'tknow the Bilboes? What a mood you're in to-day. "

Mr. Gammon flattered himself that he knew the City tolerably well, butwith the place of refreshment to which his friend now led him he wastotally unacquainted. It stood or lurked in a very obscure by-waybetween the Bank and St. Paul's, and looked externally by no meansinviting; within, but for the absence of daylight at all times, it wascomfortable enough, and peculiarly quiet--something between an old innand a modern public-house, with several small rooms for eating, drinking, smoking, or any other legitimate occupation. The few men whowere about had a prosperous appearance, and Gammon saw that they didnot belong to his special world. 

"What does the name mean?" he inquired, as they seated themselves undera gas-jet in a corner made cosy with a deep divan. 

"Bilboes? Oh, I originated it in the days gone by. The proprietor was aman called William Bowes--you perceive? Poor little Jimmy Todd used toroar about it. The best-natured fellow that ever lived. You've heard mespeak of him--second son of Sir Luke Todd. Died, poor boy, out inIndia. "

"What promise of mine were you talking about?" asked Gammon, when anorder for drinks had been given. 

"Promise--promise? Nonsense! You're wool-gathering to-day, my dear boy. By the by, I called at your place on Sunday. I was driving a very freshpony, new to harness; promised to trot her round a little for a friendof mine. Thought you might have liked a little turn on the Surreyroads. "

Greenacre chatted with his usual fluency, and seemed at ease in theworld. 

"You're doing well just now, eh?" said Gammon presently. 

"Thanks; feel remarkably well. A touch of liver now and then, butnothing serious. By the by, anything I can do for you? Any genealogy?"

Gammon had drained his tumbler of hot whisky, and felt better for it. With the second he became more communicative. He asked himself why, after all, he should not hang on to the clue he had obtained fromPolly, and why Greenacre should not be made use of. 

"Know anything about a Gildersleeve?" he asked with a laugh. 

His companion smiled cheerfully, looking at once more interested. 

"Gildersleeve! Why, yes, there was a boy of that name--no, no; it wasGildersleeves, I remember. Any connexion with Quodling?"

"Can't say. The people I mean live in Stanhope Gardens. I don't knowanything about them. "

"Like to?"

Gammon admitted that the name had a significance for him. A matter ofcuriosity. 

"No harm in a bit of genealogy, " said Greenacre. "Always interesting. Stanhope Gardens? What number?"

He urged no further question and gave no promise, but Gammon felt surethis time that information would speedily be forthcoming. Scarcely aweek passed before Greenacre wrote to him with a request for a meetingat the Bilboes. As usual, the man of mystery approached his subject byindirect routes. Beginning with praise of London as the richest groundof romance discoverable in the world, he proceeded to tell the story ofa cats'-meat woman who, after purveying for the cats at a West Endmansion for many years, discovered one day that the master of the housewas her own son. 

"He behaved to her very handsomely. At this moment she is living in apleasant little villa out Leatherhead way. You see her driving herselfin a little donkey-carriage, and throwing bits of meat to pussy-cats atthe cottage doors. Touch of nature that, isn't it? By the by, you werespeaking of a family named Gildersleeve. "

He added this, absently looking about the little room, which just nowthey had to themselves. 

"Know anything about them?" asked Gammon, eyeing him curiously. 

"I was just going to say--ah, yes, to be sure, the Gildersleeves. Now Iwonder, Gammon--forgive me, I can't help wondering--_why_ this familyinterests you. "

"Oh, nothing. I came across the name. "

"Evidently. " Greenacre's tone became a little more positive. "I'm sureyou have no objection to telling me how and where you came across it. "

Gammon had an uncomfortable sense of something unfamiliar in hisfriend. Greenacre had never spoken in this way to him; it soundedrather too imperative, too much the tone of a superior. 

"I don't think I can tell you that, " he said awkwardly. 

"No? Really? I'm sorry. In that case I can't tell you anything that Ihave learnt. Yet I fancy it _might_ be worth your while to exchange. "

"Exchange?"

"Your information for mine, you know. What I have is substantial, reliable. I think you can trust me in matters of genealogy. Come now. Am I right in supposing this curiosity of yours is not altogetherunconnected with Your interest in Francis Quodling the silk broker?Nothing to me, Gammon; nothing, I assure you. Pure love of genealogicalinquiry. Never made a penny out of such things in my life. But I havetaken a little trouble, etc. As a matter of friendship--no? Then we'lldrop the subject. By the by have you a black-and-tan to dispose of?"

He passed into a vein so chatty and so amiable that Gammon began torepent of distrusting him. Besides, his information might be reallyvaluable and could not easily be obtained in any other way. 

"Look here, Greenacre, I don't see why I shouldn't tell you. The factis, a man I used to know has disappeared, and I want to find him. Hewas seen at the theatre with a lady who lives at that house; that's thelong and the short of it. "

"Good! Now we're getting on in the old way. Age of the man about fifty, eh? And if I remember you said he was like Quodling in the face, Francis Quodling? Just so. H'm. I can assure you, then, that no suchindividual lives at the house we're speaking of. "

"No, but perhaps--"

"One moment. The Gildersleeves are a young married couple. With themlives an older lady--"

Greenacre paused, meditating. 

"The name of the missing man?" he added gently. 

"Fellow called Clover. "

"Clover--clover? _Clo_--"

Greenacre's first repetition of the name was mechanical, the nextsounded a note of confused surprise, the third broke short in a verysingular way, just as if his eyes had suddenly fallen on somethingwhich startled him into silence. Yet no one had entered the room, noface had appeared at the door. 

"What's up?" asked Gammon. 

The other regained his self-possession, as though he had for a momentwandered mentally from the subject they were discussing. 

"Forgive me. What name did you say? Yes, yes, Clover. Odd name. Tell mesomething about him. Where did you know him? What was he?"

Having gone so far, Gammon saw no reason for refusing the details ofthe story. With the pleasure that every man feels in narratingcircumstances known only to a few, he told all he could about thecareer of Mrs. Clover's husband. Greenacre listened with a placidlysmiling attention. 

"Just the kind of thing I am always coming across, " he remarked. "Everyday story in London. We must find this man. Do you know hisChristian name?"

Mrs. Clover called him Mark. 

"Mark? May or may not be his own, of course. And now, if you permit thequestion, who saw this man and recognized him in the theatre?"

Gammon gave a laugh. Then, fearing that he might convey a wrongimpression, he answered seriously that it was a niece of Mrs. Clover, ayoung lady with whom he was on friendly terms, nothing whatever butfriendly terms; a most respectable young lady--anxious, naturally, tobring Mrs. Clover and her husband together again, but discreet enoughto have kept the matter quiet as yet. And he explained how it cameabout that this young lady knew only the address in Stanhope Gardens. 

After reflecting upon that, Greenacre urged that it would be just aswell not to take the young lady into their counsel for the present, towhich his friend readily assented. And so, when they had chatted alittle longer, the man of mystery rose "to keep an appointment. " Gammonshould hear from him in a day or two. 

When ten days had gone by without the fulfilment of this promise Gammongrew uneasy. He could not communicate with Greenacre, having no idea'where the man lived or where he was to be heard of; an inquiry at theBilboes proved that he was not known there. One evening Gammon went tolook for himself at the house in Stanhope Gardens; he hung about theplace for half an hour, but saw nothing of interest or importance. Hewalked once or twice along Shaftesbury Avenue, but did not chance tomeet Polly, and could not make up his mind to beg an interview withher. At the end of a fortnight Greenacre wrote, and that evening theymet again at the obscure house of entertainment. 

"It is not often, " said Greenacre, in a despondent tone, "that I havefound an inquiry so difficult. Of course it interests me all the more, and I shall go on with it, but I must freely confess that I've gotnothing yet--absolutely nothing. "

Gammon observed him vigilantly. 

"Do you know what has occurred to me?" pursued the other, with a halfmelancholy droop of the head. "I really begin to fear that the younglady, your friend, may have made a mistake. "

"How can that be, when he met her twice and talked with her?"

"You didn't tell me that, " replied Greenacre, as if surprised. 

"No, I didn't mention it. I thought it was enough to tell you she spiedhim at the theatre. "

He added a brief account of what had happened between Polly and heruncle, Greenacre listening as if this threw new light on the case. 

"Then the mistake is mine. It's more interesting than ever. This putsme on my mettle, Gammon. Don't lose courage. I have a wonderful scentin this kind of thing. Above all, not a word to anybody--you understandthe importance of _that_?"

"That's all right. "

"I have a theory--oh, yes, there's a theory. Without a theory nothingcan be done. I am working, Gammon, on the scientific principle ofinduction. "

"Oh, are you!"

"Strictly; it has never failed me yet--I can't ay now; appointment atten-thirty. But you all hear from me in a day or two. "

"I say, " inquired Gammon, "what's your dress now?"

"Address?--oh, address letters to this place. They'll be all right. "

Another fortnight passed. It was now early in November; the weathergloomy, and by no means favourable to evening strolls. Gammon wantedmuch to see both Polly and Mrs. Clover; he had all but made up his mindto write to both of them, yet could not decide on the proper tone ineither case. Was he to be humble to Mrs. Clover? Should he beg pardonof Polly? That kind of thing did not come easily to him. 

On a day of thin yellow fog he returned about noon from seeing to apiece of business, the result of which he had to report at once to Mr. Quodling. He entered the clerk's office and asked whether "thegovernor" was alone. 

"No, he ain't, " replied a friendly young man. "He's got a lord withhim. "

"A what?"

"A peer of the realm, sir! I had the honour of taking his ludship'scard in--Lord Poll-parrot. Can't say I ever heard of him before. "

"What d'you mean? See here, I'm in a hurry; no kid, Simpson. "

"Well, it might be Poll-parrot. As a matter of fact, it's LordPolperro. "

Gammon gazed fixedly at the young man. 

"Lord Polperro? By jorrocks!"

"Know him, Mr. Gammon?" asked another of the clerks. 

"I know his name. All right, I'll wait. "

Musing on the remarkable coincidence--which seemed to prove beyonddoubt that there still existed some connexion between the family ofQuodling and the titled house which he had heard of from Greenacre--hestood in the entrance passage, and looked out for five minutes throughthe glass door at the fog-dimmed traffic of Norton Folgate. Then a stepsounded behind him. He moved aside and saw a man in a heavy fur-linedovercoat, with a muffler loose about his neck; a thin, unhealthy-looking man, with sharp eyes, rather bloodshot, which turnedtimidly this way and that, and a high-bridged nose. As soon as hecaught sight of the face Gammon drew himself up, every muscle strung. The man observed him, looked again more furtively, stepped past to thedoor. 

It took Gammon but a moment to dart into the clerk's room and ascertainthat the person who had just gone out was Lord Polperro. A moment moreand he was out in the street. The heavy-coated and mufflered man waswalking quickly southward; he waved his umbrella to a passing cab, which, however, did not pull up. Gammon followed for thirty yards. Again the man hailed a cab, and this time successfully. Just as he wasabout to step into the vehicle Gammon stood beside him. 

"How do you do, Mr. Clover?"

CHAPTER XVII

POLLY SHOWS WEAKNESS

It was spoken with quiet confidence. Gammon smiled as he lookedsteadily into the pale, thin face, which at once grew mottled with adisturbance of the blood. 

"You are making a mistake, sir, " replied an indistinct voice, with aneffort at dignity. 

"Oh, no, not a bit of it. Not now I've heard you speak, Mr. Clover. "

"I don't understand you, sir, " sounded more clearly, the pallid visagenow a muddy red and the eyes moist. "That is not my name. Be so good asto go your way. "

"Certainly. I just wanted to make sure, that's all. No fuss. Goodmorning, Mr. Clover. "

Gammon drew back. He heard the order "Charing Cross, " and the cab drewaway. 

After a moment or two of irresolution Gammon walked hurriedly back tothe nearest public-house, where he called for a glass of bitter and theDirectory. With the former he slaked a decided dryness of the throat, the latter he searched eagerly in the section "Court. " There it was!"Polperro, Lord, 16, Lowndes Mansions, Sloane Street, S. W. JuniorRamblers' Club. Trefoyle, Liskeard, Cornwall. "

By jorrocks!

With thoughts tuned to anything but the oil and colour business hereturned to Quodlings' and had his interview with the head of the firm. Mr. Quodling, senior, was a gruff, heavy-featured man, decidedly ofcoarse fibre; when moved he swore with gusto, and it did not take muchto put him out. At present he was in an irritable mood, and, veryunlike his habit, gave scant attention to the affair of which Gammonspoke. It would not have improved his temper had he known that the towntraveller was amusing himself with the reflection that there was notrace of personal resemblance between him and his brother Francis, who, on the other hand, bore a very strong likeness indeed to--Lord Polperro. 

As soon as he could get away Gammon dispatched a telegram. It was toMiss Sparkes, whom he requested to meet him at the theatre door thatnight when she left. "Something very important to tell you. "

This was done on a tell-tale impulse; it showed in what direction histhoughts and mind most readily turned just now. Thinking it over in thehours that followed he doubted whether, after all, he would tell Pollyexactly what had happened; she could be useful to him in the way heintended without knowing more than she had discovered for herself. Doubt as to the identity of Lord Polperro with Mrs. Clover's husband hehad none whatever--face, voice, trick of lips, and eyebrows mademistake an impossibility; but he must bring the man into a positionwhere there would be no choice but to reveal himself, and, so far asGammon knew, no one but Polly could help to that end. With Mrs. Cloverhe would communicate when the facts of the strange story were madeplain; not yet a while. And as for Greenacre, why, it was splendid tohave got beforehand with that keen-scented fellow. The promise to keepsilence held good only whilst their search might be hindered bysomeone's indiscretion. Now that the search was over he felt himselffree to act as he chose. 

But what an astounding discovery! Again and again, by jorrocks!

He was near the theatre long before his time. He had never waited solong or so impatiently for anyone since the days of his firstsweethearting, twenty and odd years ago. When Polly at length came outshe met him with a shyness and awkwardness which he fancied heperfectly understood. 

"I want you to come with me where we can have a quiet talk, " he said atonce in a tone of eager cordiality. "It's too wet for walking; we'llhave a cab. "

Polly gazed at him in unfeigned surprise, and asked where they were togo. Not far, he replied; here was a cab; in with her. And before shecould decide upon resistance Polly was seated by him. Gammon thenexplained that he had the use of a sitting-room at a coffee tavern;they would be there in a minute or two, There was good news forher--news that couldn't be told in the street or in a crowdedrestaurant. 

"Did you get my letter?" she asked, shrinking as far from him as spaceallowed. 

"Letter? When?"

"I posted it this morning, " Polly answered in a timidly sullen voice. 

He had not been home since breakfast-time. She had written to him? Now, wasn't that a queer thing! All yesterday he, too, had thought ofwriting, and to-day would have done so in any case. Never mind, theletter would be waiting for him. Was it nice? Was it sweet and amiable, like herself? Ha ha! Ho ho!

As he laughed the cab drew up with a jerk. Polly saw that she was in afamiliar thoroughfare and in front of a respectable establishment, butit was not without a little distrust that she entered by the privatedoor and went upstairs. A large room, so ugly and uncomfortable that ithelped to reassure her, was quickly lighted. Gammon requested the womanin attendance to bring pen, ink, and paper, whereat Polly again staredher surprise. 

"Come and sit over here, " said Gammon, "away from the door. Now makeyourself comfortable, old girl. Sure you won't have anything?"

The writing materials were brought; the door was closed. 

"Now we're all right. A long time since we saw each other, Polly. Haveyou heard anything? Any more about Mr. C. ?"

She shook her head. 

"Well, look here now, I want you to write to him. You didn't believe mewhen I said I knew. Well, you'll believe me now. I want you to write tohim, and to ask him to meet you _here_. If he won't come I know what todo next. But you just write a few lines; you know how. You want to seehim at this coffee tavern at five o'clock tomorrow; he's to come to theprivate door and ask for Miss--let's say Miss Ellis--that'll do. Ishall be here, but not in the room at first; I'll come in when you'vehad a little talk. I don't think he'll refuse to come when he seesyou've got his address. "

"What is the address?"

"Patience, my dear; wait till you've written the letter. I'll walk upand down the room whilst you do it. "

He began pacing, but Polly made no movement towards the table. She wasstrangely sullen, or, perhaps, depressed; not at all like herself, evenwhen in anger. She cast glances at her companion, and seemed desirousof saying something--of making some protest--but her tongue failed her. 

"No hurry, " Gammon remarked, after humming through a tune. "Think itout. Only a line or two. "

"Are you telling me the truth about my letter?" she suddenly asked. "You haven't read it?"

"I assure you I haven't. That's a treat for when I get home. "

Still she delayed, but before Gammon had taken many more steps she wasseated at the table, and biting the end of the penholder. 

"You'll have to tell me what to say. "

"All right. Take the words down. "

He dictated with all possible brevity. The letter was folded andenclosed. Only in the last few minutes had Gammon quite decided toshare his knowledge with Polly. As she bent her head and wrote, something in the attitude--perhaps a suggestion ofdomesticity--appealed to his emotions, which were ready for such ajuncture as this. After all there were not many girls prettier thanPolly, or with more of the attractiveness of their sex. He looked, looked till he could not turn away. 

"Now then for the address. I'll write it on this piece of paper, andyou shall copy it. "

Polly watched him, puzzled by the nervous grin on his face. She tookthe paper, on which he had written as legibly as he could--

 "Lord Polperro, 16, Lowndes Mansions, Sloane Street, S. W. "

And having read it she stared at him. 

"What d'you mean?"

"That's the address. "

"Are you making a fool of me?" Polly exclaimed, angry suspicionflashing in her eyes. 

"I tell you that's your uncle's address. Now be careful, Polly! I won'tstand it a second time. "

He was only half joking. Excitement tingled in him--the kind ofexcitement which might lead either to rage or caresses. He swayed nowon one foot, now on the other, as if preparing for a dance, and hisfists were clenched upon his hips. 

"You mean to say that's his _reel_ name?" cried Polly, she, too, quivering and reddening. 

"I do. Now mind, Polly; mind what you say, my girl! I won't stand it asecond time. "

"Don't go on like a ijiot!" exclaimed the girl, starting up from herchair. "Of course I'll believe it if you tell me you're not kidding. And you mean to say he's a lord?"

"See for yourself. "

"And his name ain't Clover at all? Then what's my awnt's name?"

Why, Lady Polperro, of course! And Minnie is--well, I don't exactlyknow--Lady Minnie Polperro, I suppose. And you--no, I don't think itgives you a title; but, you see, you are the niece of Lord Polperro. Think of that, Polly; you've got a lord for your uncle--a peer of therealm!

He came nearer and nearer as he spoke, his eyes distended with wildmerriment, his arms swinging. 

"And it's me that found it out, Polly! What have you got to say for it?Eh, old girl? What have you got to say?"

Polly uttered a scream of laughter and threw herself forward. Gammon'sarms were ready; they clasped her and hugged her, she not dreaming ofresistance--anything but that. Only when her face was very red, and herhat all but off, and her hair beginning to come loose, did she gentlyput him away. 

"That'll do; that's enough. "

"You mean it, don't you?" asked Gammon, tenderly enfolding her waist. 

"I s'pose so; it looks like it. That'll do; let me git my breath. Whata silly you are!"

"And were you fond of me all the time, Polly?" he whispered at her earas she sat down. 

"I dessay; how do I know? It's quite certain you wasn't fond of me, oryou'd never have gone off like you did that Sunday. "

"Why, I've been fond of you for no end of a time! Haven't I showed itin lots of ways? You must have known, and you did know. "

"When you smashed my door in and fought me?" asked Polly with ashamefaced laugh. 

"You don't think I'd have taken all that trouble if it hadn't been forthe pleasure of carrying you downstairs?"

"Go along!"

"But there wasn't much love about you, Polly. You hit jolly hard, oldgirl, and you kicked and you scratched. Why, I've bruises yet!"

"Serve you right! Do let me put my 'air and my 'at straight. "

"I say, Polly--" and he whispered something. 

"I s'pose so--some day, " was her answer, with head bent over the hatshe was smoothing into shape. 

"But won't you think yourself too good for me? Remember, you've got alord for your uncle. "

It returned upon both with the freshness of surprise; even Polly hadquite lost sight of the startling fact during the last few minutes. They looked at the unaddressed letter; they gazed into each other'sfaces. 

"You haven't gone and made a mistake?" asked Polly in an awed undertone. 

"There now! You didn't think; you're beginning to be sorry. "

"No, I'm not. "

"You are; I can see it. "

"Oh, all right; have it your own way! I thought you wouldn't be sosweet-tempered very long. You're all alike, you men. "

"Why, it's you that can't keep your temper!" shouted Gammon. "I onlywanted to hear you say it wouldn't make any difference, happen whatmight. "

"And didn't I say it wouldn't?" shrilled Polly. "What more can I say?"

Strangely enough a real tear had started in her eye. Gammon saw it andwas at once remorseful. He humbled himself before her; he declaredhimself a beast and a brute. Polly was a darling: far too good for him, too sweet and gentle and lovely. He ought to think himself the happiestman living, by jorrocks if he oughtn't! Just one more! Why, he liked agirl to have spirit! He wouldn't give tuppence farthing for fifty girlsthat couldn't speak up for themselves. And if she was the niece of alord, why, she deserved it and a good deal more. She ought to be LadyPolly straight away; and hanged if he wouldn't call her so. 

"Hadn't we better get this letter addressed?" Polly asked, very amiableagain. 

"Yes; it's getting late, I'm afraid. "

Polly drew up to the table, but her hand was so unsteady that it costher much trouble to manage the pen. 

"I've wrote it awful bad. Does it matter?"

"Bad? Why it's beautifully written, Polly--Lady Polly, I mean. I've gota stamp. "

She stuck it on to the envelope with an angle upwards; and Gammondeclared that it was beautifully done; he never knew anyone stamp aletter so nicely. As she gazed at the completed missive Polly had asudden thought which made a change in her countenance. She looked round. 

"What is it?"

"He hasn't got another wife, has he?"

"Not likely, " answered Gammon. "If so he's committed bigamy, and somuch the worse for him. Your aunt must have been his first--it was solong ago. "

"Couldn't you find out? Isn't there a book as gives all about lords andtheir families? I've heard so. "

"I believe there is, " replied the other thoughtfully. "I'll get a lookat it somewhere. He's scamp enough for anything, I've no doubt. Hecomes of a bad lot, Polly. There's all sorts of queer stories about hisfather--at least, I suppose it was his father. "

"Tell me some, " said Polly with eagerness. 

"Oh, I will some day. But now I come to think of it, I don't know whenhe became Lord Polperro. He couldn't, of course, till the death of hisfather. Most likely the old man was alive when he married your aunt. It's easy to understand now why he's led such a queer life, isn't it? Ishouldn't a bit wonder if he went away the second time because hisfather had died. I'll find out about it. Would you believe, when I methim in the street and spoke to him, he pretended he'd never heard sucha name as Clover!"

"You met him, did you? When?"

"Oh--I'll tell you all about that afterwards. It's getting late. Weshall have lots of talk. You'll let me take you home? We'll have a cab, shall we? Lady Pollys don't walk about the streets on a wet night. "

She stood in thought. 

"I want you to do something for me. "

"Right you are! Tell me and I'll do it like a shot, see if I don't. "

His arm again encircled her, and this time Polly did not talk of her'at or her 'air. Indeed, she bent her head, half hiding her faceagainst him. 

"You know that letter I sent you?"

"What's in it? Something nicey-picey?"

"I want you to let me go to the 'ouse with you--just to the door--and Iwant you to give me that letter back--just as it is--without openingit. You will, won't you, deary?"

"Of course I will, if you really mean it. "

"I do, it was a _narsty_ letter. I couldn't bear to have you read itnow. "

Gammon had no difficulty in imagining the kind of epistle which Pollywould desire suppressed; yet, for some obscure reason, he would ratherhave read it. But his promise was given. Polly, in turn, promised towrite another letter for him as soon as possible. 

So they drove in a hansom, through a night which washed the fog away, to Kennington Road, and whilst Polly kept her place in the vehicleGammon ran upstairs. There lay the letter on his dressing-table. Hehastened down with it, and before handing it to its writer kissed theenvelope. 

"Go along!" exclaimed Polly, in high good humour, as she reached outwith eager fingers. 

Late as it was he accompanied her to Shaftesbury Avenue, and theyparted tenderly after having come to an agreement about the nextevening. 

CHAPTER XVIII

LORD POLPERRO'S REPRESENTATIVE

By discreet inquiry Mr. Gammon procured an introduction to "Debrett, "who supplied him with a great deal of information. In the first placehe learned that the present Lord Polperro, fourth of that title, wasnot the son, but the brother of the Lord Polperro preceding him, bothbeing offspring, it was plain, of the peer whose will occasioned alawsuit some forty years ago. Granted the truth of scandalous rumour, which had such remarkable supports in facial characteristics, thepresent bearer of the title would be, in fact, half-brother to FrancisQuodling. Again, it was discoverable that the Lord Polperro of to-daysucceeded to the barony in the very year of Mrs. Clover's husband'ssecond disappearance. 

"Just what I said, " was Gammon's mental comment as he thumped thearistocratic pages. 

Now for the women. To begin with, Lord Polperro was set down abachelor--ha! ha! Then he had one sister, Miss Adela Trefoyle, olderthan himself, and that might very well be the lady who was seen besidehim at the theatre. Then again, though his elder brother's malechildren had died, there was living a daughter, by name Adeline, recently wedded to--by jorrocks!--Lucian Gildersleeve, Esquire. Why, here was "the whole boiling of 'em!"

Mr. Gammon eagerly jotted down the particulars in his notebook, andswallowed the whisky at his side with gusto. Not once, however, had heasked himself why this man of guiles and freaks chose to mask under thename of Clover, an omission to be accounted for not by any lack of wit, but by mere educational defect. He could not have been further fromsuspecting that his utterance of the name Clover had given hisgenealogical friend a most important clue, and a long start in thesearch for the missing man. 

Impatiently he awaited the early nightfall of the morrow. Business hadto be attended to as usual; but he went about with a bearing ofextraordinary animation, now laughing to himself, now snapping hisfingers, now (when he chanced to be out of people's sight) twirlinground on one leg. Either of yesterday's events would have sufficed toexhilarate him; together they whipped his blood and frothed his fancy. He had found Clover, who was a lord! He had won the love of PollySparkes, who was the finest girl living! Did ever the bagman of an oiland colour firm speed about his duties with such springs of excitementbubbling within him?

And Mrs. Clover? Ought she not to be told at once? Had he any right tokeep to himself such a discovery as this? He knew, by police courtprecedent, that a false name in marriage did not invalidate thecontract. Beyond shadow of doubt Mrs. Clover was Lady Polperro. AndMinnie--why, suppose Minnie had favoured his suit, he would have beenson-in-law of a peer! As it was, whom might not the girl marry! Shewould pass from the neighbourhood of Battersea Park Road to a house inMayfair or Belgravia; from Doulton's and the china shop to unimaginableheights of social dignity. And who more fit for the new sphere? Mr. Gammon sighed, but in a moment remembered Polly and snapped his fingers. 

A little before five o'clock he was hovering within sight of the coffeetavern, which already threw radiance into the murky and muddy street. In a minute or two he saw Polly and exchanged a quick word with her. 

"Up you go! You'll find all ready. If he comes I shall see him, andI'll look in when you've had a little talk. "

Polly disappeared, and Mr. Gammon again hovered. But who was thisapproaching? Of all unwelcome people at this moment, hanged if itwasn't Greenacre! What did the fellow want here? He was staring abouthim as if to make sure of an address. Worse than that, he stepped up tothe private door of the coffee-tavern and rang the bell. 

Shrinking aside into darkness, Gammon felt a shiver of unaccountableapprehension, which was quickly followed by a thrill of angryannoyance. What did this mean? The door had opened, Greenacre wasadmitted. What the devil did this mean? If it wasn't enough to make afellow want to wring another fellow's neck!

He waited thirty seconds, thinking it was five minutes, then went tothe door, rang, and entered. 

"Who came in just now, miss?"

"The gentleman for the young lydy, sir. "

"By jorrocks!"

Gammon mounted the stairs at break-neck speed and burst into theprivate sitting-room. There stood Polly, with her head up, looking pertindignation and surprise, and before her stood Greenacre, discoursingin his politest tone. 

"What are you doing here?" asked Gammon breathlessly. "What are you upto, eh?"

"Ah, Gammon, how do you do? I'm glad you've dropped in. Let us sit downand have a quiet talk. "

The man of mystery was very well dressed, very cool, more than equal tothe situation. He took for granted the perfect friendliness of bothPolly and Gammon, smiled from one to the other, and as he seatedhimself, drew out a cigarette case. 

"I'm sure Miss Sparkes won't mind. I have already apologized, Gammon, for the necessity of introducing myself. You, I am sure, will forgiveme when you learn the position of affairs. I'm so glad you happened todrop in. "

Declining a cigarette, Gammon stared about him in angry confusion. Hehad no words ready. Greenacre's sang-froid, though it irritated himexcessively, shamed him into quiet behaviour. 

"When you entered, Gammon, I was just explaining to Miss Sparkes that Iam here on behalf of her uncle, Lord Polperro. "

"Oh, you are. And how do you come to know him?"

"Singular accident. The kind of thing that is constantly happening inLondon. Lord Polperro is living next door to an old friend of mine, aman I haven't seen for some seven or eight years till the other day. Ihappened to hear of my friend's address, called upon him, and there methis lordship. Now wasn't it a strange thing, Gammon? Just when you andI were so interested in a certain puzzle, a delightful bit ofgenealogy. Lord Polperro and I quite took to each other. He seemed tolike my chat, and, in fact, we have been seeing a good deal of eachother for a week or two. "

"You kept this to yourself, Gammon. "

"For a sufficient reason--anything but a selfish one. You, I mayremark, also made a discovery and kept it to yourself. "

"It was my own business. "

"Certainly. Don't dream that I find fault with you, my dear fellow. Itwas the most natural thing in the world. Now let me explain. I grieveto tell you that Lord Polperro is in very poor health. To be explicit, he is suffering from a complication of serious disorders, among themdisease of the heart. " He paused to let his announcement have its fulleffect. "You will understand why I am here to represent him. LordPolperro dare not, simply dare not, expose himself to an agitatinginterview; it might--it probably would--cost him his life. MissSparkes, I am sure you would not like to see your noble relative falllifeless at your feet?"

Polly looked at Gammon, who, in spite of wrath, could not help smiling. 

"He didn't do it in Lincoln's Inn Fields, Greenacre. "

"He did not; but I very greatly fear that those meetings--of course Ihave heard of them--helped to bring about the crisis under which he isnow suffering, as also did a certain other meeting which you willrecollect, Gammon. Pray tell me, did Lord Polperro seem to you inrobust health?"

"Can't say he did. Looked jolly seedy. "

"Precisely. Acting on my advice he has left town for a few days. Ishall join him to-morrow, and do my best to keep up his spirits. Youwill now see the necessity for using great caution, greatconsideration, in this strange affair. We can be quite frank with eachother, Gammon, and of course we have no secrets from my new and valuedfriend--if she will let me call her so--Miss Polly Sparkes. One has butto look at Miss Sparkes to see the sweetness and thoughtfulness of herdisposition. Come now, we are going to make a little plot together, toact for the best. I am sure we do not wish Lord Polperro's death. I amsure _you_ do not, Miss Sparkes. "

Polly again looked at Gammon, and muttered that of course she didn't. Gammon grinned. Feeling sure of his power to act independently, if needwere, he began to see the jocose side of things. 

"One question I should like to ask, " continued Greenacre, lighting asecond cigarette. "Has Mrs. Clover--as we will continue to call her, with an implied apology--been informed yet?"

"I haven't told her, " said Gammon frankly. 

"And I'm sure I haven't, " added Polly, who had begun to observe Mr. Greenacre with a less hostile eye, and was recovering her nativevivacity. 

Greenacre looked satisfied. 

"Then I think you have acted very wisely indeed--as one might haveexpected from Miss Sparkes. I don't mean I shouldn't have expected itfrom you too, Gammon; but you and I are not on ceremony, old man. Nowlet me have your attention. We begin by admitting that Lord Polperrohas put himself in a very painful position. Painful, let me tell you, in every sense. Lord Polperro desires nothing so much--nothing somuch--as to be reunited to his family. He longs for the society of hiswife and daughter. What more natural in a man who feels that his daysare numbered! Lord Polperro bitterly laments the follies of his lifewhich are explained, Gammon, as you and I know, by the character heinherited. We know the peculiarities of the Trefoyle family. Some ofthem I must not refer to in the presence of a young lady such as MissSparkes. " Polly looked at her toes and smirked. "But Lord Polperro'schief fault seems to have been an insuperable restlessness, which earlytook the form of a revolt against the habits and prejudices ofaristocratic life. Knowing so much of that life myself, I must say thatI understand him; that, to a certain extent, I sympathize with him. When a youth he desired the liberty of a plebeian station, and soughtit under disguises. You must remember that at that time he had verylittle prospect of ever succeeding to the title. Let me give you alittle genealogy. "

"Needn't trouble, " put in Gammon. "I know it all. Got it out of a book. I'll tell you afterwards, Polly. "

"Ah, got it out of a book? Why, you are becoming quite a genealogist, Gammon, I need only say, then, that he did not give a thought to thetitle. He chose to earn his own bread, and live his own life, likeordinary mortals. He took the name of Clover. Of course, you see why. "

"Hanged if I do, " said Gammon. 

"Why, my dear fellow, are not clover and trefoil the same things? Don'tyou see? Trefoyle. Only a little difference of accent. "

"Never heard the word. Did you, Polly?"

"Not me. "

"Ah! not unnatural. An out-of-the-way word. " Greenacre hid his contemptbeneath a smile. "Well now, I repeat that Lord Polperro longs to returnto the bosom of his family. He has even gone in the darkness of thenight to look at his wife's abode, and returned home in misery. A fact!At this moment--your attention, I beg--I am assisting him to form aplan by which he will be enabled to live a natural life without theunpleasantness of public gossip. I do not yet feel at liberty todescribe our project, but it is ripening. What I ask you is this. Willyou trust us? Miss Sparkes, have I your confidence?"

"It's all very well, " threw in Gammon, before Polly could reply. "Butwhat if he drops down dead, as you say he might do? What about hisfamily then?"

"Gammon, " replied the other with great solemnity, "I asked whether Ihad your confidence. Do you, or do you not, believe me when I tell youthat Lord Polperro has long since executed a will by which not only arehis wife and his daughter amply--most amply--provided for, but evenmore distant relatives on his wife's side?"

He gazed impressively at Miss Sparkes, whose eyes twinkled as sheturned with a jerk to Gammon. 

"Look here, Greenacre, " exclaimed the man of commerce, "let's bebusiness-like. I may trust you, or I may not. What I want to know is, how long are we to wait before he comes to the shop down yonder andbehaves like an honest man? Just fix a date, and I'll make a note ofit. "

"My dear Gammon--"

"Go ahead!"

"I cannot fix a date on my own responsibility. It depends so greatly onhis lordship's health. I can only assure you that at the earliestpossible moment Lady Polperro will be summoned to an interview with herhusband. By the by, I trust her ladyship is quite well?"

"Oh, she's all right, " replied Gammon impatiently. 

"And the Honourable Minnie Trefoyle--she, too, enjoys good health, Itrust?"

Polly and Gammon exchanged a stare, followed by laughter, which was alittle forced on the man's part. 

"That's Miss Clover, " he remarked. "Sounds queer, doesn't it?"

"That's her _reel_ name?" cried Polly. 

"Indeed it is, Miss Sparkes, " replied Greenacre. "But let me remindyou--if it is not impertinent--that beauty and grace can very wellafford to dispense with titles. I think, Gammon, you and I know a casein point. "

Polly tossed her head and shuffled her feet, well pleased with themen's laughter. 

"And if it comes to that, " Greenacre pursued, "I don't mind saying, Gammon, that I suspect you to be a confoundedly lucky and enviable dog. May I congratulate him, Miss Sparkes?"

"Oh, you can if you like, Mr. --I forget your name. "

"I do so then, Gammon. I congratulate you, and I envy you. Heigh-ho!I'm a lonely bachelor myself, Miss Sparkes--no, hang it, Miss Polly. You may well look pityingly at me. "

"I'm sure I don't, Mr. --I can't remember your name, " answered Pollywith a delighted giggle. 

"See here, Greenacre, " Gammon interposed genially, "Miss Sparkes and Iwill have to talk this over. Mind you, I give no promise. I found outfor myself who Mr. Clover was, and I hold myself free to do what Ithink fit. You quite understand?"

Greenacre nodded absently. Then he cleared his throat. 

"I quite understand, my dear boy. I should like just to remind you thatthere's really nothing to be gained, one way or the other, byinterfering with Lord Polperro before he has made his plans. The ladieswould in no way be benefited, and it's very certain no one else wouldbe. No doubt you'll bear that in mind. "

"Of course I shall. You may take it from me, Greenacre, that I'mtolerably wide awake. Can I still address you at the Bilboes?"

"You can, " was the grave and dignified reply. "And now, as I happen tohave an appointment at the other end of the town, I really must saygood-bye. I repeat, Miss Sparkes, you may trust me absolutely. I haveyour interests and those of my friend Gammon--the same thingnow--thoroughly at heart. You will hear from his lordship, MissSparkes--no, hang it, Miss Polly. You will very soon have a line fromhis lordship, who, I may venture to say, is really attached to you. Hespeaks of you all most touchingly. Good evening, Miss Polly, notgood-bye; we are to meet again very soon. And who knows all the happychanges that are before you. Ta-ta, Gammon. Rely upon me; I neverfailed a friend yet. "

So saying he took his leave with bows and flourishes. Shortly afterPolly and Gammon went into the superior room of the tavern and had teatogether, talking at a great rate, one as excited as the other. MissSparkes being already attired for her evening duties they parted onlywhen they were obliged to do so, agreeing to meet again when Polly leftthe theatre. 

To pass this interval of time Mr. Gammon dropped into a music-hall. Hewished to meditate on what had come to his knowledge. Had it not beenthat Lord Polperro was, in a sense, a public institution, and could notescape him, he would have felt uneasy about the doings of thatremarkable fellow Greenacre; as it was, he preferred to muse on theadvantages certain to befall Minnie and her mother, and perchance PollySparkes. After all, the niece of a lord must benefit substantially bythe connexion, and by consequence that young lady's husband. No onecould have been freer from secondary motives than he, when he foundhimself falling in love with Polly; and if it turned out a marriage ofunforeseen brilliancy, why, so much the better. Polly had not alteredtowards him--dear, affectionate girl that she was I He would acthonourably; she should have the chance of reconsidering her position;but--

A damsel, sparingly clad, was singing in the serio-comic vein, with adance after each stanza. As he sipped his whisky, and watched andlistened, Gammon felt his heart glow within him. The melody waslulling; it had a refrain of delicious sentiment. The listener's eyesgrew moist; there rose a lump in his throat. Dear Polly! Lovely Polly!Would he not cherish her to the day of his death? How could he havefancied that he loved anyone else? Darling Polly!

When the singer withdrew he clapped violently, and thereupon called foranother Scotch hot, with lemon. 

As a matter of course a friend soon discovered him, a man who declaredhimself in a whisper "stonebroke, " and said, after a glass of the usualbeverage, that if the truth must be told he had looked in here thisevening to save himself from the torments of despair. Three youngchildren, and the missus just going to have another. Did Gammon know ofany opening in the cork line?

"Afraid not, " replied the traveller, "but I know a man out Hoxton waywho's pushing a new lamp-glass cleaner. You might give him a look in. It goes well, I'm told, in the eastern suburbs. "

Presently a coin of substantial value passed from Gammon's pocket intothat of his gloomy friend. 

"Poor devil!" said the good fellow to himself. "He married atripe-dresser's daughter, and she nags him. Never had a chance to marrya jolly little girl who turned out to have a lord for her uncle!"

So he drank and applauded, and piped his eye and drank again, till itwas time to meet Polly. When he went forth into the cold street neverwas man more softly amorous, more mirthfully exultant, more kindlydisposed to all the dwellers upon earth. Life abounds in such forms ofhappiness, yet we are told that it is a sad and sorry affair!

CHAPTER XIX

NOT IN THE SECRET

Since his adventure in knight-errantry Christopher Parish had sufferedterrible alternations of hope and despair. For fear of offending MissSparkes he did not press for an explanation of the errand on which shehad sent him enough that he was again permitted to see her, toentertain her modestly, and to hold her attention whilst he discoursedon the glories of the firm of Swettenham. Every week supplied him withnew and astounding Swettenham statistics. He was able to report, as "anabsolute fact, " that a junior member of the firm--a junior, mindyou--was building a house at Eastbourne which would cost him, all told, not one penny less than sixty-five thousand pounds! He would like tosee that house; in fact, he must see it. When Easter came round wouldMiss Sparkes honour him with her company on a day trip to Eastbourne, that they might gaze together on the appalling mansion?

"P'r'aps, " replied Polly, "if you're good. "

Whereat Mr. Parish perspired with ecstasy, and began at once to planthe details of the outing. 

Indeed, Polly was very gracious to him, and presently somethinghappened which enhanced her graciousness--perhaps increased her genuineliking for the amiable young man. Her friend, Miss Waghorn, was aboutto be married to Mr. Nibby. It was a cheerless time of the year for awedding, but Mr. Nibby had just come in for a little legacy, on thestrength of which he took a house in a southeast suburb, and furnishedit on the hire system, with a splendour which caused Miss Waghorn toshriek in delight, and severely tested the magnanimity of Polly'sfriendship. Polly was to be a bridesmaid, and must needs have abecoming dress but where was it to come from? Her perfidious uncle hadvanished (she knew not yet _who_ that uncle really was), and her "tips"of late had been--in Polly's language--measly. In the course offriendly chat she mentioned to Mr. Parish that the wedding was for thatday week, and added, with head aside, that she couldn't imagine whatshe was going to wear. 

"I shall patch up some old dress, I s'pose. Lucky it's dark weather. "

Christopher became meditative, and seemed to shirk the subject. But onthe morrow there arrived for Polly a letter addressed in hishandwriting--an envelope rather--which contained two postal orders, each for one pound, but not a word on the paper enfolding them. 

"Well now, " cried Polly within herself, "if that ain't gentlemanly ofhim! Who'd a' thought it! And me just going to put my bracelet away!"

By which she meant that she was about to pawn her jewellery to procurea bridesmaid's dress. Gratitude, for the moment, quite overcame her. She sat down and wrote a letter of thanks, so worded that the recipientwas beside himself for a whole day. He in turn wrote a letter of threefull sheets, wherein, among other lyrical extravagances, he expressed awish that by dying a death of slow torture he could endow Miss Sparkeswith fabulous wealth. How gladly would he perish, knowing that shewould come to lay artificial flowers upon his grave, and to the end ofher life see that the letters on his tombstone were kept legible. 

So Polly made a handsome appearance at the wedding. As a matter offact, she came near to exciting unpleasantness between bride andbridegroom, so indiscreet was Mr. Nibby in his spoken and silentadmiration. After consuming a great deal of indifferent champagne atMr. Nibby's lodgings the blissful couple departed to spend a week atBournemouth, and Polly returned to the room in Shaftesbury Avenue, which henceforth she would occupy alone. "And a good riddance!" shesaid to herself pettishly as she stripped off her wedding garments. 

On this very evening she wrote to Mr. Gammon--the letter he was neverto read. 

Mr. Gammon had received an invitation to the ceremony, but throughpressure of business was unable to accept it. He felt, too, that therewould have been awkwardness in thus meeting with Polly for the firsttime since their rupture on the Embankment. 

Polly, of course, concluded that he kept away solely because he did notwish to see her. In the mood induced by this reflection, and by theturbid emotions natural to such a day, she penned her farewell to theinsulting and perfidious man. Mr. Gammon was informed that never andnowhere would Miss Sparkes demean herself by exchanging another wordwith him; that he was a low and vulgar and ignorant person, withoutmanners enough for a road-scraper; moreover, that she had long sincebeen the object of _sincere_ attentions from someone so vastly hissuperior that they were not to be named in the same month. Thisoverflow of feeling was some relief, but Polly could not rest until shehad also written to Mrs. Clover. She made known to her aunt that Mr. Gammon had of late been guilty of such insolent behaviour to her (thewriter) that she had serious thoughts of seeking protection from thepolice. "As he is such a great friend of yours and Minnie's, I thoughtI had better warn you. Perhaps you might like to try and teach himbetter behaviour, though I can't say as you are the person to do it. And you may be pleased to hear that I should not wonder if I am shortlyto be married to a _gentleman_, which it won't surprise you after thatif I am unable to see anything more of you and your family. "

But for a violent storm which broke out after eleven that night, justas she finished these compositions, Polly would have posted themforthwith, and Mr. Gammon would in that case have received his letterby the first post next morning. As it was they remained in Polly's roomall night, and only an hour or two after their actual dispatch came thefateful telegram which was to make such a revolution in Miss Sparkes'sentiments and prospects. Mrs. Clover duly received her missive, andgave a good deal of thought to it, Being a woman of some self-commandshe spoke no word of the matter to Minnie nor, though greatly tempted, did she pen a reply, but in a few days she sent a quiet invitation toPolly's father, desiring the pleasure of his company at tea on Sunday. 

Mr. Sparkes came. He was in very low spirits, for during the past weekChaffey's had disgraced itself (if Chaffey's _could_ now be disgraced)by supplying a supper at eighteen-pence per head, exclusive of liquors, to certain provincial representatives of the Rag, Bone, and BottleDealers' Alliance in town for the purpose of attending a publicmeeting. He called it 'art-breaking, he did. The long and short of itwas, he must prepare himself--and Chaffey's--for the inevitablefarewell. Why, it wasn't as if they had supplied the rag-tags with a_good_ supper. You should have seen the stuff put before them; everyblessed dish a hash-up of leavings and broken meats. No man with avestige of self-respect could continue to wait at such entertainments. And this amid the gilding and the plush and the marble-topped tables, which sickened one with their surface imitation of real rest'rants. 

"Wouldn't you like to retire into private life, Ebenezer?" asked hishostess. "I'm sure you _could_, couldn't you?"

"Well, Louisa, " he replied with hesitation, "if it comes to that, I_could_. But I hardly know how I should spend my time. "

The conversation turned to the subject of Polly, and, as they werealone together, Mrs. Clover exhibited the letter she had received fromthat young lady. 

"Now what have you to say to that, Ebenezer? Don't you call itshameful?"

Mr. Sparkes sighed deeply. 

"I've warned her, Louisa, I've warned her solemn. What more can I do?"

"You see how she goes on about Mr. Gammon. Now I'm as sure as I am ofanything that it's all lies. I don't believe Mr. Gammon has insultedher. There was something happened before she left Mrs. Bubb's--a bit ofunpleasantness there's no need to talk about; but I'm as sure as I sithere, Ebenezer, that Mr. Gammon wouldn't insult any girl in the wayPolly says. "

"Why don't you ask him?"

Mrs. Clover glanced at the door and betrayed uneasiness. 

"To tell you the truth he doesn't come here just now. You won't let itgo any further, Ebenezer, but the truth is he began to take a sort offancy to Minnie, and he told me about it, just as he ought to a'done, and I had to tell him plain that it wasn't a bit of use. For one thingMinnie was too young, and what's more, she hadn't even given half athought to him in _that_ way; and I wouldn't have the child worriedabout such things, because, as you know, she's delicate, and it doesn'ttake much to upset her in her mind, and then she can't sleep at nights. So I told Mr. Gammon plain and straight, and he took it in the rightspirit, but he hasn't been here since. And I'm as sure as anything thatPolly's letter is a nasty, mean bit of falsehood, though I'm sorry tohave to say it to you, Ebenezer. "

Mr. Sparkes had the beginning of a cold in the head, which did not tendto make him cheerful. Sitting by the fireside, very upright in hisdecent suit of Sunday black, he looked more than ever like a clergyman, perchance a curate who is growing old without hope of a benefice. Fortunately there entered about tea-time a young man in much betterspirits, evidently a welcome friend of Mrs. Clover's; his name wasNelson. On his arrival Minnie joined the company, and it would havebeen remarked by anyone with an interest in the affairs of the familythat Mrs. Clover was not at all reluctant to see her daughter and thisyoung man amiably conversing. Mr. Nelson had something not unlike thecarriage and tone of a gentleman; he talked quietly, thoughlight-heartedly, and from remarks he let fall it appeared that he wassomehow connected with the decorative arts. Minnie and he dropped intoa discussion of some new ceramic design put forth by Doulton's; theyseemed to understand each other, and grew more animated as theyexchanged opinions. The hostess, meanwhile, kept glancing at them witha smile of benevolence. 

At the tea table Mr. Nelson gratified Mr. Sparkes by an allusion toalmost the only topic--apart from Chaffey's--which could draw thatgrave man into continuous speech. Mr. Sparkes had but one recreation, that of angling; for many years he had devoted such hours of summerleisure as Chaffey's granted him to piscatory excursions, were it onlyas far as the Welsh Harp. Finding this young man disposed to lend arespectful ear, and to venture intelligent questions, he was presentlydiscoursing at large. 

"Chub? Why chub's a kind of carp, don't you see. There's no fish pullsharder than a chub, not in the ordinary way of fishing. A chub he'llpull just like a little pig; he will indeed, if you believe me. "

"And a jack, uncle, " put in Minnie, who liked to please the old man. "Doesn't a jack pull hard?"

"Well, it's like this, my dear; it depends on the bottom when it'sjack. If the bottom's weedy--see?--you must keep your line tight on ajack. Let him run and you're as like as not to lose thirty or fortyyards of your line. "

"And the lines are expensive, aren't they, uncle?"

"Well, my dear, I give eighteen and six for my preserved jackline--hundred yards. Eighteen and six!"

There followed one of his old stories, of a jack which had been eatingup young ducklings on a certain pond; how he had baited for this fellowwith a live duckling, the hook through the tips of its wings, got himin twenty minutes, and he turned the scale at four-and-twenty pounds. Roach and perch were afterwards discussed. In Mr. Sparkes' opinion thebest bait for these fish was a bit of dough kneaded up with loose wool. Chaffey's--at all events, Chaffey's of to-day--would not have known itshead waiter could it have seen and heard him as he thus held forth. Thehostess showed a fear lest Mr. Nelson should have more than enough ofCockney angling; but he and Minnie were at one in good-naturedattentiveness, and in the end Mrs. Clover overcame her uneasiness. 

A few days after this Minnie's mother, overcoming a secret scruple andyielding to a long desire, allowed herself to write a letter to Mr. Gammon. It was a very simple, not ill-composed letter; its object toexpress regret for the ill temper she had shown, now many weeks ago, onher parting with Mr. Gammon in Kennington Road. Would he not look in atthe china shop just in the old way? It would please her very much, forindeed she had never meant or dreamt a termination to their friendship. They had known each other so long. Would not Mr. Gammon overlook herfoolishness, remembering all she had had to go through? So she signedherself his "friend always the same, " and having done so looked at thelast line rather timidly, and made haste to close the letter. 

An answer arrived without undue delay, and Mrs. Clover went apart toread it, her breath quicker than usual, and her fingers tremulous. Mr. Gammon wrote with unfeigned cordiality, just like himself. He hoped tocall very soon, though it might still be a few weeks. There was nothingto forgive on his part; he wasn't such a fool as to be angry with anold friend for a few hasty words. But the truth was he had a lot ofbusiness on his hands; he was doing his best to get into a permanencyat Quodlings' of Norton Folgate, and he knew Mrs. Clover would be gladto hear that. Let her give his kind regards to Miss Minnie, and believehim when he said that he was just as friendly disposed as ever. 

Beneath these words Mrs. Clover naturally enough detected nothing ofthe strange experiences in which Mr. Gammon was involved. "Kind regardsto Minnie. " Yes, there was the explanation of his silence. He calledher his "old friend, " a phrase of double meaning. Mrs. Clover, in spiteof her good sense, was vexed, and wished he had not said "old. " Why, had she not a year or two the advantage of him in youthfulness?

CHAPTER XX

THE HUSBAND'S RETURN

Gammon would gladly have answered in person Mrs. Clover's letter, buthe had promised Polly that he would neither visit the china shop nor inany way communicate with her aunt. Polly had made a great point ofthis, and he thought the reason was not far to seek; she stillharboured jealousy of her cousin, and no doubt it would be delightfulto make known, just how and when she herself saw fit, her triumph overMinnie. So he kept away from Battersea Park Road, though often wishingto spend an evening there in the old way, with Mrs. Clover's brightface on one side of him and Minnie's modestly bent head on the other. 

It would have been so restful after all this excitement, for however hetried to grasp the facts, Mrs. Clover and Minnie still seemed remotefrom the world of wealth and titles; he could not change their names orsee them in any other position than that which was familiar andnatural. In talk with Polly he always rose to hilarious anticipations, partly the result of amorous fervour; but this mood did not survivetheir parting. Alone he was frequently troubled with uneasiness, withmisgiving, more so as the days went by without bringing any news fromGreenacre. Under the cover of night he visited Lowndes Mansions andhung about there for half an hour, like unto one with sinisterintentions; but his trouble profited him nothing. Polly was growingimpatient. After the manner of her kind she brooded on suspicions, andhatched numerous more or less wild conjectures. What if Greenacre hadspirited Lord Polperro away for some dark purpose of his own? Gammonhimself could not help suspecting the mysterious man of deep projectswhich would tend to the disadvantage of Lord Polperro's forsaken wifeand child. At the end of a fortnight he wrote to Greenacre at theBilboes pressing for information. To his surprise and satisfaction thisbrought about an interview on the following day. Greenacre seemedradiant with a good conscience. 

"All is going well, " he declared. "Our noble friend is improving inhealth, temporarily, at all events. Doubtless it is the result ofhaving his mind more at ease. You can't imagine, Gammon, how that manhas been tormented by remorse. I am not yet at liberty to disclose hisplans. But I shall certainly be so very soon--very soon. I won't sayChristmas, but before New Year's Day I feel confident I shall have gotthings completely in order. I will only hint to you that his lordshipwishes to retire from the world, to live a perfectly quiet and simpledomestic life in a locality which will be favourable to his health. Youwill agree with us, I know, that this is far better than trying tobrave the gossip and scandal of society. I may now tell you, in strictconfidence, that our friend has already written a letter to his wife, ready to be posted as soon as ever the last details are settled. By theby, Gammon, I hope there can be no doubt as to Lady Polperro'swillingness to concur in what her husband proposes?"

"I don't know anything about that, " Gammon replied. "I can't answer forher. "

"Naturally. Of course not. But I hope there will be no unexpecteddifficulty on that side. Lord Polperro has his fears, which I have donemy best to dispel. We can but hope, put our trust in the forgivingnature of woman. "

It now wanted but a very short time to Christmas. As the day drew nearGammon felt that this state of worrying suspense was growingintolerable. Polly's suspicions were louder, her temper becameuncertain; once or twice she forgot herself and used languagecalculated to cause a breach of the peace. On these occasions Gammonfound himself doubting whether she really was the girl after his ownheart; he could have wished that she had rather less spirit. Overcomeby her persistence, he at length definitely engaged to wait no longerthan the end of the year. If by that time Greenacre had not put thingsin order, Polly was to seek her aunt and make known all that they haddiscovered. 

"We won't be 'umbugged!" she exclaimed. "And it begins to look to mejolly like 'umbugging. I don't know what _you_ think. "

Gammon admitted that the state of things was very unsatisfactory, andmust come to an end. The last day of the year--so be it. After thatPolly should have her way. 

It was the middle of Christmas week. A letter to the Bilboes remainedwithout answer. Gammon and Polly met every day, excited each other, lost their tempers, were stormily reconciled. On the morning of thethirty-first Gammon received four letters begging for pecuniaryassistance, but nothing from Greenacre. He had slept badly, hissplendid health was beginning to suffer. By jorrocks! there should bean end of this, and that quickly. 

As he loitered without appetite over a particularly greasy breakfast, listening to Mrs. Bubb's description of an ailment from which heryoungest child was suffering, Moggie came into the kitchen and saidthat a young man wished to see him. Gammon rushed up to the front door, where, in mist and drizzle, stood a muscular youth whom he did notrecognize. 

"I'm come from Mrs. Clover's, sir, " said this messenger, touching hishat. "She'd be very glad to see you as soon as you could make itconvenient to look round. "

"Is that all?"

That was all; nothing more could be learnt from the young man, andGammon promised to come forthwith. Luckily he could absent himself fromQuodlings' to-day with no great harm; so after a few words with Mrs. Bubb he pulled on his greatcoat and set off by the speediest way. Onlyafter starting did he remember his promise to Polly. That could not behelped. The case seemed to be urgent, and he must beg for indulgence. He had an appointment with Polly for six o'clock this evening. In theexcitement of decisive action (it being the last day of the year) shewould probably overlook this small matter. 

He found Mrs. Clover in the shop. She reddened at sight of him, andafter a hurried greeting asked him to step into the parlour, where shecarefully closed the door. 

"Mr. Gammon, have you heard anything about my husband?"

The question disconcerted him; he tried ineffectually to shape a denial. 

"You have, I can see you have! It doesn't matter. I don't want you totell me anything. But he's now in this house. "

She was greatly agitated, not angry, but beset by perplexities anddistress. 

"He came last night about ten o'clock--came to the door wrapped up likea stranger--it was almost too much for me when I heard his voice. Hewanted to come in--to stay; and of course I let him. Minnie had toknow, poor girl. He's in the spare room. Did you know he meant to come?"

"I? Hadn't an idea of it, Mrs. Clover!"

"But you know something about him. He tells me you do. He wants to seeyou. There's only one thing I ask--has he been doing wrong? Oh, do tellme that!"

Gammon protested that he knew nothing of the kind, and added that hehad only seen the man once, for a minute, now more than a month ago. 

"And you kept it from me!" said his friend reproachfully. "I didn'tthink you'd have done that, Mr. Gammon!"

"There was a reason. I shouldn't have thought of doing it if therehadn't been a good reason. "

"Never mind. I won't interfere. I feel as if it had nothing to do withme. Will you go upstairs to him? He looks to me as if he hadn't verylong to live, indeed he does. Listen, that's his cough! Oh, I am soupset. It came so sudden. And to think you'd seen him and never toldme! Never mind, go up to him, if you will, and see what he wants withyou. "

Gammon did her bidding. He ascended lightly and tapped at the door Mrs. Clover indicated. A cough sounded from within; then a voice which thevisitor recognized, saying, "Come in. " On the bed, but fully dressed, lay a tall, meagre man, with a woollen comforter about his neck. Theroom was in good order, and warmed by a fire, which the sufferer'scondition seemed to make very necessary. He fixed his eyes on Gammon, as if trying to smile, but defeated in the effort by pain and misery. 

"I'm here, you see, " he said hoarsely. "There's no doubt about me now. "

"Got a bad cold, eh?" replied the other, as cheerfully as he could. 

"Yes, a cold. Always have a cold. Would you mind reaching me thekettle?"

He poured out some brandy from a bottle which stood on the floor, andmixed it with a little hot water. Gammon the while observed him withmuch curiosity. In five years or a little more he had become an old andfeeble man; his thin hair was all but completely grey, his flesh hadwasted and discoloured, his hand trembled, his breath came withdifficulty. Present illness accounted perhaps for the latter symptoms;but, from that glimpse of him in Norton Folgate, Gammon had known thathe was much aged and shaken. Hat, overcoat, and muffler had partlydisguised what was now evident. He spoke with the accent of an educatedman, and in the tone of one whom nature has endowed with amiablequalities. The bottle beside him seemed to explain certainpeculiarities of his manner. When he had drunk thirstily he raisedhimself to a sitting posture, and nodded to his visitor an invitationto take a chair. 

"I'm here, you see, Gammon. Here at last. "

"Why did you come?"

"Why?--ah, why indeed!"

Having sighed out this ejaculation he seemed to grow absent, to forgetthat he was not alone. A violent cough shook him into wakefulnessagain; he stared at Gammon with red eyes full of pain and fear, andsaid thickly:

"Are you an honest man--you?

"Well, I hope so; try to be. "

"What's his name? You know him, don't you?"

"Do you mean Greenacre?" asked Gammon, feeling very uncomfortable, forthe man before him looked like one who struggles for his last breath. 

"Greenacre, yes. What has he told you about me?"

Gammon answered with the simple truth; the situation alarmed him, andhe would have nothing more to do with conspiracy in such a case. Hecould not feel sure that his explanations were followed and understood;now and then the bloodshot eyes turned blankly to him as if in adrunken dream; but in the end he saw a look of satisfaction. 

"You're an honest man, aren't you? We used to know each other, you knowwhen. My wife likes you, doesn't she?"

"We've always been friends, of course, " Gammon replied. 

"Would you mind giving me the kettle?" He mixed another glass ofbrandy, spilling a great deal in the process. "I don't offer you any, Greenacre, it's medicine; I take it as such. One doesn't offer one'sfriends a glass of medicine, you know, Greenacre. "

"My name is Gammon. "

"What am I thinking about! There was something I wanted to ask you. Yes, of course. Does she know?"

"You mean does your wife know who you really are?" said Gammon in acautious voice. 

"Haven't you told her?"

"Not yet. "

"Then I don't think anyone else has. "

The man had fallen back upon the pillow. He began to cough, struggledto raise himself, and became seated on the edge of the bed. 

"Well, it's time we were going. "

"Where to?" asked Gammon. 

The other stared at him in surprise and distress. 

"Surely I haven't to tell you all over again! Weren't you listening?You're a man of business, are you not? Surely you ought to have a clearhead the first thing in the morning. "

"Just tell me again in a word or two. What can I do for you? Do youwant to see anybody?"

"Yes, yes, I remember. " He laid a hand on his companion's shoulder. "The matter stands thus, Greenacre I trust you implicitly, once more Iassure you of that; but it is absolutely necessary for me to see asolicitor. "

"All right. What's his name?"

"I'll tell you, Cuthbertson--Old Jewry Chambers. But first of all letus come to an understanding about that man Quodling. I called upon hisbrother--why, I told you all that before, didn't I?"

"You had just been there when I met you in Norton Folgate, " saidGammon, who felt that before long his own wits would begin to wander. 

"To be sure. And now we really must be going. "

He stood up staggering, gained his balance, and walked to the window. The prospect thence seemed to recall him to a consciousness of theactual present, and he looked round appealingly, distressfully. 

"I tell you what it is, " said Gammon. "You ought to get into bed andhave a doctor. Shall I help you?"

"No, no; I regret that I came here, Greenacre. I am not welcome; howcould I expect to be? If I am going to be ill it mustn't be here. "

"Then let me get a cab and take you to your own place, if your wife iswilling. "

"That would be best. The truth is I feel terribly queer, Greenacre. Suppose I--suppose I died here? Of course, I ought never to have come. Think of the talk there would be; and that's just what I wanted tospare them, the talk and the disgrace. It can all be managed by mysolicitor. But I felt that come I must. After all, you see, it's home. You understand that? It's really my home. I've been here often atnight, just to see the house. The wonder is that I didn't come inbefore. Of course, I knew I couldn't be welcome--but one's wife andchild, Greenacre. The real wife, whether the other's alive or not. "

Gammon started. 

"What did you say?" he asked in a whisper. 

"Nothing--nothing. You are a good fellow, I am sure, and my wife likesyou, that's quite enough. The point is this now, I must destroy thatwill, and get Cuthbertson to draw a deed of gift, all in order, youknow, but nothing that could get wind and make a scandal. The willwould be publicly known, I ought to have remembered that. I repeat, Greenacre, that what I have to do is to provide for them both withoutcausing them any trouble or disgrace. "

Catching the listener's eye he became silent and confused for a moment, then added quickly:

"I beg your pardon. I addressed you by the wrong name. Gammon, I meantto say. Gammon, my wife's friend, a thoroughly honest man. Have I mademyself clear, Gammon? I--you see how the matter stands?"

Gammon was beginning to see that the matter stood in a perilousposition, and that the sooner Mr. Cuthbertson--if such a personexisted--could be brought on to the scene the better for every oneconcerned. He asked himself whether he ought to summon Mrs. Clover. Hisglance towards the door must have betrayed his thought, for the sickman spoke as though in reply to it. 

"We will say nothing to her yet, if you please. I--I begin to feel alittle better. Our long confidential talk has done me good. By the by, Greenacre--I beg your pardon, Gammon--you quite understand that it isall in the strictest confidence. I trust you implicitly as my dearwife's friend; it is all in her interests, as you see. I think now, ifyou would kindly get a cab--yes, I feel quite equal to it now--we willgo to Lowndes Mansions. "

The voice was thin, husky, senile; but his tone had more ofrationality, and he appeared to have made up his mind to a course ofaction. Gammon presently went downstairs and told Mrs. Clover that herhusband wished to go into town on business. She made no objection, butasked whether Gammon would take the responsibility of looking afterhim. This he promised. Whether the man would return hither or not wasleft uncertain. 

"If he goes to his own house, " said Gammon, "I'll see him safe thereand let you know. He lives in the West End. Now don't upset yourself;if he doesn't come back you shall know where he is, and if you want toyou shall go and see him. I promise you that. I know all about him, andso shall you; so just keep yourself quiet. He'll have to go to bed andstay there; anyone can see that. If you take my advice you'll let us goout quietly and not speak to him. Just trust to me, Mrs. Clover. "

"Do you think he's right in his mind?" she asked. 

"Well, he's very shaky, and ought to be kept quiet. What has he toldyou?"

"Nothing at all; he sat crying for an hour last night, and talked aboutthe old times. When I asked questions he put me off. And when I wentinto his room this morning he said nothing except that he wanted to seeyou, and that he must have some brandy for his cold. "

"All right; let us leave the house quietly, and I'll see you againto-day or to-morrow. Oh, I say, has a man called Greenacre been here atany time?"

"I don't know anyone of that name, " answered Mrs. Clover as she turneddistressfully away. 

A cab was summoned, and Gammon, having helped the sick man to clothehimself warmly in overcoat and muffler, led him from the house. Theydrove straightway to Lowndes Mansions. 

CHAPTER XXI

HIS LORDSHIP'S WILL

The movement of the vehicle made Lord Polperro drowsy. In ten minuteshe seemed to be asleep, and Gammon had to catch his hat as it wasfalling forward. When the four-wheeler jolted more than usual heuttered groans; once he shouted loudly, and for a moment stared abouthim in terror. The man of commerce had never made so unpleasant ajourney in his life. 

On arriving at their destination it was with much difficulty thatGammon aroused his companion, and with still more that he conveyed himfrom the cab into the building, a house porter (who smiledsignificantly) assisting in the job. Lord Polperro, when thoroughlyawakened, coughed, groaned, and gasped in a most alarming way. His flatwas on the first floor; before reaching it he began to shed tears, andto beg that his medical man might be called immediately. The door wasopened by a middle-aged woman dressed as a housekeeper, who viewed hislordship with no great concern. She promised to send a messenger to thedoctor's, and left the two men alone in a room comfortably furnished, but without elegance or expensiveness. Gammon waited upon the invalid, placed him at ease by the fireside, and reached him a cellaret from acupboard full of various liquors. A few draughts of a restorativeenabled Lord Polperro to articulate, and he inquired if any letters hadarrived for him. 

"Look on the writing table, Greenacre. Any thing there?"

There were two letters. The invalid examined them with disappointmentand tossed them aside. 

"Beggars and blackmailers, " he muttered. "Nobody else writes to me. "

Of a sudden it occurred to him that he was forgetting the duties ofhospitality. He urged his guest to take refreshment; he roused himself, went to the cupboard, brought out half a dozen kinds of beverage. 

"And of course you will lunch with me, or will it be dinner? Yes, yes, luncheon of course. Excuse me for one moment, I must give some orders. "

He left the room. Gammon, having tossed off a glass of wine, surveyedthe objects about him with curiosity. An observer of more educationwould have glanced with peculiar interest at the books; several volumeslay on the table, one of them a recent work on gipsies, another dealingwith the antiquities of Cornwall. For the town traveller these thingsof course had no significance. But he remarked a painting on the wall, which was probably a portrait of one of Lord Polperro's ancestors--ayoungish man (the Trefoyle nose, not to be mistaken) in a strange wildcostume, his head bare under a sky blackening to storm, in his hand asort of hunting knife, and one of his feet resting on a dead wolf. Whenhis host reappeared Gammon asked him whom the picture represented. 

"That? That's my father--years before I was born. They tell me that heused to say that in his life he had only done one thing to be proud of. It was in some part of Russia. He killed a wolf at close quarters--onlya knife to fight with. He was a fine man, my father. Looks it, don'tyou think?"

Thirst was upon him again; he drank the first liquor that came to hand, then sat down and was silent. 

"You feel better?" said Gammon. 

"Better? Oh, thanks, much the same. I shan't be better till things aresettled. That won't be long. I expected to hear from Greenacre--I thinkyou said you knew Greenacre?"

"What is he doing for you?" Gammon inquired, thinking he might as welltake advantage of this lucid moment, the result, seemingly, ofalcoholic stimulation. 

"Doing? We'll talk of that presently. Mind you, I have completeconfidence in Greenacre. I regret that I didn't know him long ago. " Hesighed and began to wander. "My best years gone--gone! You rememberwhat I was, Gammon? We don't live like other people, something wrong inour blood; we go down--down. But if I had lived as I was, and let thecursed title alone! That was my mistake, Greenacre. I had foundhappiness--a good wife. You know my wife? What am I saying? Of courseyou do. Never an unkind word from her, never one. How many men can saythat? The best woman living, Greenacre. "

"You keep forgetting who I am, " said his guest bluntly. 

Lord Polperro gave him a look of surprise, and with effort cleared histhoughts. 

"Ah, I called you Greenacre. Excuse me, Gammon, my wife's friend. Beher friend still, a better woman doesn't live, believe me. You willlunch with me, Gammon. We are to have a long talk. And I want you to gowith me to my solicitor's. I must settle that to-day. I thoughtGreenacre would be back. The fact is, you know, I must recover myhealth. The south of Europe, Greenacre thinks, and I agree with him. Aplace where we can live quietly, my wife and the little girl, no one tobother us or to gossip. She shall know when we get there, not before. This climate is bad for me, killing me; in fact, I hope to start in afew days, just us three, I and my wife and the little girl. She shalluse the title if she likes, if not we'll leave it behind us. Ah, thatwas my misfortune, you know. It oughtn't to have come to me. "

He was seized with a hiccough, which in a few moments became so violentthat he had to abandon the attempt to converse. When it had lasted forhalf an hour Gammon found his position intolerable. He rose, meaning toleave the room and speak to the housekeeper, but just then the dooropened to admit Lord Polperro's medical attendant. This gentleman, after a glance at the patient, who was not aware of his presence, put afew questions to Gammon. The latter than withdrew quietly, went outfrom the flat and down into the street where the doctor's carriagestood waiting. He was bewildered with the novelty of experience, feltthoroughly out of his element, and would have liked to have escapedfrom these complications by simply taking a cab to Norton Folgate andforgetting all he left behind. But his promise to Mrs. Clover (or LadyPolperro) forbade this. He was very curious as to the proceedings ofthat mysterious fellow Greenacre, who, as likely as not, had got LordPolperro into his power for rascally purposes. What was that half-heardallusion to another wife, who might be alive or dead? Nothing to causeastonishment assuredly, but the matter ought to be cleared up. 

He crossed the street and walked up and down, keeping his eye onLowndes Mansions. Before long the doctor came out and drove away. Aftermuch indecision Gammon again entered and knocked at the door of hisnoble friend. The housekeeper said that Lord Polperro was asking forhim impatiently. But when he entered the sitting-room there lay hislordship on the sofa fast asleep. 

The sleep lasted for a couple of hours, during which Gammon sat in theroom, bearing tedium as best he could. He was afraid to go away, lestan opportunity of learning something important should be lost; butnever had time passed so slowly. Some neglect of business was involved, but fortunately he had no appointment that could not be postponed. Ashe said to himself, it was better to "see the thing through, " and tomake the most of Greenacre's absence. 

When Lord Polperro at length awoke he had command of his intellect(such as remained to him), but groaned in severe pain. His firstinquiry was whether any letter or telegram had arrived. Assured thatthere was nothing he tottered about the room for a few minutes, thendeclared that he must go to bed. 

"I always feel better in the evening, Gammon. You'll excuse me, I know;we are old friends. I must see you again to-day; you'll promise to comeback? Oh, how ill I am! I don't think this can go on much longer. "

"What did the doctor tell you to do?"

"Oh, nothing, nothing, " was the irritable reply. "Of course, I must getaway as soon as possible. If only I could hear from Greenacre. "

Seeing there was no likelihood of the man's leaving home for the nextfew hours Gammon promised to return in the afternoon, and so took hisleave. On the stairs he passed two ladies, who, as he learnt in amoment by the sound of their knock above, were making a call upon theinvalid. In the street stood their carriage. He watched it for sometime from the other side of the way until the ladies came forth again. It would have soothed Gammon's mind could he have known that they wereLord Polperro's sister and his niece. 

Just as the brief daylight was flickering out (the air had begun to nipwith a threat of frost) he once more presented himself at LowndesMansions. In the meantime he had seen Polly Sparkes, informed her ofwhat was happening, and received her promise that she would take nostep until he could communicate with her again. This interview revivedhis spirits; he felt equal to another effort such as that of themorning--which had taxed him more than the hardest day's work he wasever called upon to do. 

Lord Polperro again sat by the fireside with a decanter and glasswithin his reach. He was evidently more at ease, but seemed to have adifficulty in recognizing his visitor. 

"Have you come from Greenacre?" he asked cautiously, peering throughthe dull light. 

"I don't know anything about him. "

"No? I cannot understand why I have no news from him. Pray sit down; wewere talking about--"

Presently he shook his recollections into order, and when a lamp wasbrought in he began to talk lucidly. 

"Gammon, I feel very uneasy in my mind. This morning I quite intendedto have gone and seen Cuthbertson; but I was taken ill, you know. Whatis the time? I wonder whether Cuthbertson is likely to be at his officestill?"

"That's your lawyer, isn't it? Would you like me to go and try to gethold of him? I might bring him here. "

"You are very kind, Gammon. For some reason I feel that I really oughtto see him to-day. Suppose we go together?"

"But you oughtn't to be out at night, ought you?"

"Oh, I feel much better. Besides, we shall drive, you know--quitecomfortable. I really think we will go. Then you shall come back anddine with me. Yes, I think we will go. "

Between this decision and the actual step half an hour was wasted indoubts, fresh resolves, moments of forgetfulness, and slow preparation. A messenger had been dispatched for a cab, and at length almost byforce Gammon succeeded in getting his lordship down the stairs and outinto the street. They drove to Old Jewry Chambers. Throughout thejourney Lord Polperro kept up a constant babbling, which he meant forimpressive talk; much of it was inaudible to his companion, from thenoise of the cab, and the sentences that could be distinguished weremere repetitions of what he had said before leaving home--that he feltit absolutely necessary to see Cuthbertson, and that he could notunderstand Greenacre's silence. They reached the solicitor's office atabout half-past five. Lord Polperro entered only to return with a faceof disappointment. 

"He has gone. No one there but a clerk--no use. "

"Couldn't you find him at his private address?" asked Gammon. 

"Private address? to be sure! I'll go in again and ask for it. "

Mr. Cuthbertson lived at Streatham. 

"I tell you what, " said Lord Polperro, whose mind seemed to beinvigorated by his activity, "we'll go to Streatham, but first of allwe must have something to eat. The fact is, I had no lunch; I begin tofeel rather faint. "

He bade the cabman drive to any restaurant not far away. There thevehicle was dismissed, and they sat down to a meal. Gammon as usual ateheartily. Lord Polperro pretended to do the same but in realityswallowed only a few mouthfuls, and gave his more serious attention tothe wine. Every few minutes he assured his companion in a whisper thathe would feel quite at ease when he had seen Cuthbertson. 

They looked out the trains to Streatham, and left just in time to catchone. On the journey his lordship dozed. He was growing very huskyagain, and the cough shook him badly after each effort to talk, soGammon felt glad to see him resting. By the gaslight in the railwaycarriage his face appeared to flush and go pale alternately; at momentsit looked horribly cadaverous with its half-open eyes, shrivelled lips, and thin, sharp, high-ridged nose. On arriving the man lost allconsciousness of where he was and what he purposed; it took manyminutes before Gammon could convey him into a cab and extort from himMr. Cuthbertson's address. 

"Greenacre, " his lordship kept repeating, "I trust you implicitly. I amconvinced you have my interests at heart. When all is settled I shallshow myself grateful--believe me. "

Between seven and eight o'clock they drove up to a house on StreathamHill, and without consulting Lord Polperro, Gammon went to parley atthe door. Ill luck pursued them. Mr. Cuthbertson was dining in town, and could not be home till late. When made to understand this LordPolperro passed from lethargy to violent agitation. 

"We must go back at once!" he exclaimed. "To Lowndes Mansions at onceGreenacre, tell him to drive straight to Sloane Street. You don't knowwhat depends upon it. We must lose not a moment. "

The cabman consented, and the return journey began at a good speed. When Gammon, out of regard for the invalid's condition, insisted onhaving the window of the hansom dropped, Lord Polperro grumbled andlamented. The cool air did him good; he was beginning to breathe moreeasily than he had done for a long time. 

"You are too imperious with me, Greenacre. I have noticed it in youbefore. You take too much upon yourself. "

"I suppose it's no use telling you once more, " said his companion, "that my name isn't Greenacre. "

"Dear me! dear me! I beg your pardon a thousand times. I meant to sayGammon. I can't tell you, Gammon, how much I feel your kindness. Butfor you I should never have managed all this in my state of health. Youdon't mind coming home with me?"

"Of course not. What are you going to do when you get there?"

"I told you, my dear Gammon, it shall be done this very night, whetherI have news or not. I shall see Cuthbertson the first thing to-morrow, and get him to draw the deed of gift. That settles everything; nogossip, no scandal, if anything should happen. Life is so uncertain, and as you see I am in anything but robust health. Yes, it shall bedone this very night. "

Tired of futile questioning Gammon resolved to wait and see what wasdone, though it seemed to him more than likely that nothing at allwould come of these vehement expressions. At all events Lord Polperrowas now wide awake, and seemed in no danger of relapsing into thesemi-comatose or semi-delirious condition. He no longer addressed hiscompanion by the name of Greenacre; his talk was marked with a rationalreserve; he watched the course of their drive along the highways ofSouth London, and showed satisfaction as they approached his owndistrict. 

The cabman was paid with careless liberality, and Lord Polperro ran upthe stairs to his flat. More strictly speaking, he ran for a few yards, when breath failed him, and it was all he could do to stagger with loudpantings up the rest of the ascent. Arrived in his sitting-room he sankexhausted on to the nearest chair. Gammon saw that he pointed feebly tothe drink cupboard, and heard a gasp that sounded like "brandy. "

"Better not, " replied the clear-headed man. "I wouldn't if I were you. "

But his lordship insisted, looking reproachfully, and the brandy wasproduced. It did him good; that is to say, it brought colour to hisface, and enabled him to sit upright. No sooner was he thus recoveredthan his eyes fell upon the envelope of a telegram which lay on hiswriting-table. 

"There it is, at last!"

He tore the paper, all but sobbing with agony of impatience. 

"Good God, I can't see it! I've gone half blind all at once. Read itfor me, Gammon. "

"Hope see you to-night. Important news. If not, in morning. --Greenacre. "

"Where did he send it from?"

"Euston, six o'clock. "

"Then he came by the Irish day-mail. Why didn't I think of that andmeet the train? What does he mean by to-night or to-morrow morning?What does he _mean_?"

"How can I tell?" replied Gammon. "Perhaps he has called here while youwere away. "

Lord Polperro rang the bell, only to find that no one had asked forhim. He was in a state of pitiable agitation, kept shuffling about theroom with coughs and gasps, demanding ceaselessly why Greenacre leftthe hour of his appearance uncertain. Gammon, scarcely less excited inhis own way, shouted assurances that the fellow might turn up at anymoment. It was not yet ten o'clock. Why not sit down and wait quietly?

"I will, " said the other. "I will thank you, Gammon. I will sit downand wait. But I cannot conceive why he didn't come straight here fromEuston. I may as well tell you he has been to Ireland for me onbusiness of the gravest importance. I am not impatient without cause. Itrust Greenacre implicitly. He had a gentleman's education. I amconvinced he could not deceive me. "

More brandy helped him to surmount this crisis, then he was silent fora few minutes. Gammon thought he had begun to doze again, but of asudden he spoke distinctly and earnestly. 

"I am forgetting. You remember what I had decided to do. It shall bedone at once, Gammon. I know it will relieve my mind. "

He rose, went to the writing-table, unlocked a drawer, and took out alarge sealed envelope, on which something was written. 

"Gammon, you are witness of what I now do. This is my will, executedabout a year ago. I have reasons for wishing to dispose of my propertyin another way. Cuthbertson will see to that for me to-morrow. A willbecomes public. I did not think of that at the time. There!"

He threw the sealed packet into the fire, where it was quickly caughtby the flames and consumed. 

"Now I feel easier in mind, much easier. "

He drank from the replenished glass, smiling and nodding. 

CHAPTER XXII

NEW YEAR'S EVE

Gammon had the strangest sensation. He felt as though he were acting ina melodrama; he stood in a constrained position, as if the eyes of thehouse were upon him; he suffered from a sort of stage fright. Much moreof this kind of thing would assuredly unsettle his wits. To recovertone he helped himself to a stiff glass of whisky. 

"That's right, " said his host encouragingly. "Make yourselfcomfortable. Greenacre may drop in at any moment. You can't think howmuch better I feel, Gammon. So clear in the mind, you know--why, it hasonly just occurred to me, this is New Year's Eve. "

"So it is. Here's to your health and happiness, Lord Polperro!"

"Thank you, my dear Gammon. I heartily wish you the same. To-morrow, orat all events in a few days, a new life begins for me, as you know. Inthe climate of the south of Europe, with my wife and the littlegirl--ah, but for this idiotic title!--I was saying--"

He began to wander unintelligibly, then complained of physicalsufferings, then coughed until he sank in exhaustion. 

Time went on. Gammon began to ask himself how long he should wait. Athalf-past ten he made a suggestion that his lordship might do worsethan go to bed, but this was ill received. 

"By no means. Greenacre may be here at any moment. He will certainlycome to-night. If he doesn't come, do you know what occurs to me? Whyshouldn't we drive into the City and ask whether he has returned?"

"Ask where?"

"He lives at a place--a sort of hotel--which he calls the Bilboes. Greenacre is eccentric, but thoroughly trustworthy. He had agentleman's education. "

"He lives there, does he?" exclaimed Gammon. 

"Finds it convenient, I suppose. Yes, we will go and inquire--wecertainly will. "

Gammon's objections were unheeded. No one could take any harm, saidLord Polperro, from driving in a closed cab to the City and back. Hewould leave directions that if Greenacre called during their absence heshould be asked to wait. So they made ready and went forth, and oncemore a hansom bore them through the dark, cold night. 

Lord Polperro talked unceasingly, and from his rambling hints it wasnot difficult to conjecture the business on which Greenacre had beendispatched to Ireland. Someone had to be discovered: a doubt as towhether some person was alive or dead had to be set at rest. Gammonventured a few questions, which were answered evasively, but the natureof his companion's anxiety was by this time clear enough to him. Hefelt quite as desirous of meeting Greenacre as Lord Polperro himself. Every hour spent in this way added to his responsibility, and he hadmade up his mind that at the earliest possible moment to-morrow hewould himself see Mr. Cuthbertson, and confide to him everything thathad happened during this extraordinary day. 

As the cab ascended Ludgate Hill it passed through crowds of peoplemoving in the same direction. Gammon was for a moment surprised, thenhe called to mind again that it was New Year's Eve; the people werethronging to hear St. Paul's strike the hour of midnight. Last year hehad himself joined in this celebration. He remembered with a smile thathe reached home by circuitous routes, and after one or two shortintervals of repose on convenient doorsteps. What was more, on thatvery night he had first made Greenacre's acquaintance at a bar; theyswore eternal brotherhood, and Greenacre borrowed half a sovereign, never repaid. 

With Gammon's help the cabman found his way to the Bilboes. 

"Don't get out, " he said to his companion. "I'll ask if he has come. "

Lord Polperro suddenly aroused himself and tumbled out of the vehicle;but for Gammon's attention he would have fallen full length. Theyentered together, and by a confused process of inquiry learnt thatGreenacre was still absent. 

"Does he live here?" Gammon asked of a waiter whom he had drawn aside. 

"He has a bedroom, sir. "

Lord Polperro said that he felt a sudden faintness and must takerefreshment. Having drunk, he began to talk in a loud voice about hisprivate affairs, addressing a stranger who sat by him and whom he tookfor Gammon. 

"I shall stay here. I shall certainly wait here for Greenacre. I can'trun the risk of missing him to-night. "

Gammon caught him by the arm and persuaded him to come out into thepassage; but the only result of this was that Lord Polperro dismissedthe cab, repeating obstinately that he would wait Greenacre's arrival. 

"But ten to one he's waiting for us down yonder, " urged Gammon. 

"He won't wait very long, and we shall pass him on the road if we goback now. I tell you it is my pleasure to remain here! You forgetyourself, Gammon. I know we are old friends, but you forget ourpositions. "

The man of commerce laughed contemptuously. 

"Look here, " he said the next moment. "Let's walk as far as St. Paul'sand have a look at the crowd. "

"The crowd? What crowd?"

When he had heard the explanation his lordship readily assented. Certainly they would stroll as far as St. Paul's and back again, bythat time Greenacre might have come. It seemed probable that when theyhad gone a little distance Lord Polperro would feel shaky and consentto take a cab. Drink, however, had invigorated the man; he reeled alittle and talked very huskily, but declared that the walk wasenjoyable. 

"Let's go into the crowd, Gammon. I like a crowd. What are those bellsringing for? Yes, yes, of course, I remember--New Year's Eve. I had noidea that people came here to see the New Year in. I shall come again. I shall come every year; it's most enjoyable. "

They entered the Churchyard and were soon amid a noisy, hustlingthrong, an assembly composed of clerks and countermen, roughs andpickpockets, with a sprinkling of well-to-do rowdies, and numerousgirls or women, whose shrieks, screams, and yelps sounded above thedeeper notes of masculine uproar. Gammon, holding tight to hiscompanion's arm, endeavoured to pilot him in a direction where thecrowd was thinnest, still moving westward; but Lord Polperro caught thecontagion of the tumult and began pressing vehemently into the surgingmass. 

"This does me good, Gammon. It's a long time since I've mixed withpeople. I always enjoyed a crowd. Holloo--o--o!"

His excited shout made him cough terribly; none the less he pushed on. 

"You'll come to harm, " said the other. "Don't be a fool; get out ofthis. "

A struggle began between them; but by this time they were so thicklyencompassed that Gammon had small chance of forcing his companion away. Lord Polperro did not resent the tugs at his arm; he took it for genialhorseplay, and only shouted louder. 

"On we go! This makes one feel alive, eh? Splendid idea to come and seethis. Hollo--o--o!"

Blackguards in front of him were bellowing a filthy song; his lordshiptried to join in the melody. A girl who was jammed against him shotliquid into his ear out of a squirt, and another of her kind knockedhis hat off; he struggled to recover it, but someone was beforehandwith him and sent the silky headgear flying skyward, after which it wastossed from hand to hand and then trampled under foot. 

"Now you'll catch your bloomin' death of cold, " said Gammon. "Stick onto me and get out of this. "

"I'm all right! Leave me alone, can't you! How often have I a damnedchance of enjoying myself?"

It was the first syllable of bad language that Gammon had heard fromPolperro's lips. Struck with the fact, and all the more conscious ofhis duty to this high-born madman, he hit on a device for rescuing himfrom the crowd. 

"Look!" he cried suddenly, "there's Greenacre!"

"Where?" replied the other, all eagerness. 

"Just in front; don't you see him? This way; come along, or we shalllose him. "

Flecks of dim white had for some minutes been visible above theirheads; it was beginning to snow. Gammon shouldered his way steadily, careful not to come into quarrelsome conflict. Polperro hung on behind, shouting Greenacre's name. This clamour and the loss of his hat drewattention upon him; he was a mark for squirts and missiles, to saynothing of verbal insult. St. Paul's struck the first note of twelve, and from all the bestial mob arose a howl and roar. Polperro happenedto press against a drunken woman; she caught him by his disordered hairand tugged at it, yelling into his face. To release himself he bentforward, pushing the woman away; the result was a violent blow from herfist, after which she raised a shriek as if of pain and terror. Instantly a man sprang forward to her defence, and he, too, planted hisfist between the eyes of the hapless peer. Gammon saw at once that theywere involved in a serious row, the very thing he had been trying toavoid. He would not desert his friend, and was too plucky to see himill-used with out reprisals. The rough's blows were answered with noless vigour by the man of commerce. 

"Hook it!" shouted Gammon to the tottering Polperro. "Get out of it!"

The clock was still striking; the crowd kept up its brutal blare, aidedby shrill instruments of noise. Only a few people heard Polperro'sshout defying the enemy. 

"Let him come on! Let him come on like a man! Take that, you ruffian, and that!"

Gammon, knowing the conflict grossly unequal, did not scruple to fighthis own way. Polperro, wildly thrashing about him with both fists, excited wrath in every direction. There was a general scrimmage; shoutsof rage mingled with wild laughter; the throng crushed this way andthat. Grappling in his own defence with a big brute who had clutchedhis throat, Gammon saw Polperro go down. It was his last glimpse of theunfortunate man. Fighting savagely he found himself borne far away byan irresistible rush, and when he had lost sight of his foe he triedvainly to return to the place where Polperro had fallen. The policewere now interfering, the crowd swayed more violently than ever, andbegan to scatter itself in off-streets. 

From church towers of east and west chimes rang merrily for the NewYear. Softly fell the snow from a black sky, and was forthwith troddeninto slush. 

Though he was badly mauled and felt sick Gammon would not abandon thehope of discovering his friend. After resting for a few minutes againstthe front of a shop he moved again into the crowd, now much thinner, and soon to be altogether dispersed. The helmets of policemen drew himin a certain direction; two constables were clearing the way, and headdressed them, asking whether they had seen a bareheaded man recentlydamaged in a fight. 

"There's been a disturbance over yonder, " one replied, carelesslypointing to a spot where other helmets could be discerned. 

Thither Gammon made his way. He found police and public gatheredthickly about some person invisible; a vigorous effort and he got nearenough to see a recumbent body, quite still, on which the flakes ofsnow were falling. 

"Let me look at him, " he requested of a constable who would have pushedhim away. "It's a friend of mine, I believe. "

Yes, it was Lord Polperro, unconscious, and with blood about his mouth. 

The police were waiting as a matter of professional routine to seewhether he recovered his senses; they had, of course, classed him as"drunk and incapable. "

"I say, " Gammon whispered to one of them, "let me tell you who that is. "

The conference led to the summoning of a cab, which by police directionwas driven to the nearest hospital, St. Bartholomew's. Here Gammon soonlearnt that the case was considered serious, so serious that thepatient has been put to bed and must there remain. 

Utterly done up Gammon threw himself into the cab to be driven toKennington Road. When he reached Mrs. Bubb's he was fast asleep, butthere a voice addressed him which restored his consciousness veryquickly indeed. 

CHAPTER XXIII

HIS LORDSHIP RETIRES

It was the voice of Greenacre, unsteady with wrath, stripped utterly ofits bland intonations. 

"So here you are! What have you been up to, Gammon? Are you drunk?"

Just as the cab drove up Greenacre was turning reluctantly from thehouse door, where he had held a warm parley with Mrs. Bubb; thelandlady irritable at being disturbed in her first sleep, the untimelyvisitor much ruffled in temper by various causes. 

"Drunk!" echoed Gammon, as he leapt to the pavement and clutched atGreenacre's arm. "Drunk yourself, more likely! Where have you beensince you sent that telegram? Hold on a minute. " He paid the cabman. "Now then, give an account of yourself. "

"What the devil do you mean?" cried the other. "What account do I oweto you?"

"Well, I might answer that question, " said Gammon with a grin, "if Itook time to calculate. "

"We can't talk in the street at this time of night, with snow comingdown. Suppose we go up to your room?"

"As you please. But I advise you to talk quietly; the walls and thefloors are not over thick. "

The latch-key admitted them, and they went as softly as possible up thestairs, only one involuntary kick from Greenacre on sounding woodcausing his host to mutter a malediction. By a light in the bedroomthey viewed each other, and Greenacre showed astonishment. 

"So you _are_ drunk, or have been You've got a black eye, and yourclothes are all pulled about. You've been in a row. "

"You're not far wrong. Tell' me what you've been doing, and you shallhear where the row was and who was with me. "

"Gammon, you've been behaving like a cad--a scoundrel. I didn't thinkit of you. You went to that place in Sloane Street. No use lying; I'vebeen told you were there. You must have found out I was going away, andyou've played old Harry. I didn't think you were a fellow of that sort;I had more faith in you. "

Upon mutual recrimination followed an exchange of narratives. Greenacre's came first. He was the victim, he declared, of such illluck as rarely befell a man. Arriving at Euston by the Irish mail, andhastening to get a cab, whom should he encounter on the very platformbut a base-minded ruffian who nursed a spite against him; a low fellowwho had taken advantage of his good nature, and who--in short, a manfrom whom it was impossible to escape, for several good reasons, untilthey had spent some hours together. He got off a telegram to LordPolperro, and could do no more till nearly eleven o'clock at night. Arriving headlong at Lowndes Mansions, he learnt with disgust what hadgone on there in his absence. And now, what defence had Gammon tooffer? What was his game?

"I guess pretty well what yours is, my boy, " answered the listener. "And I'm not sorry I've spoilt it. "

Thereupon he related the singular train of events between breakfasttime this (or rather yesterday) morning and the ringing out of the oldyear. When it came to a description of Lord Polperro's accidentGreenacre lost all control of himself. 

"Ass! blockhead! You know no better than to let such a man in his stateof health get mixed up in a crowd of roughs at midnight? Good God! Hemay die!"

"I shouldn't wonder a bit, " returned Gammon coolly. "If he does it maybe awkward for you, eh?"

From his story he had omitted one detail, thinking it better to keepsilence about the burning of the will until he learnt more thanGreenacre had as yet avowed to him. 

"Fool!" blustered the other. "Idiot!"

"You'd better stop that, Greenacre, or I shan't be the only man with ablack eye. Do you want to be kicked downstairs? or would you prefer todrop out of the window? Keep a civil tongue in your head. "

At this moment both were startled into silence by a violent thumping atthe wall. 

It came from the room which used to be occupied by Polly Sparkes, andwas accompanied by angry verbal remonstrance from a lodger disturbed inhis slumbers. 

"Didn't I tell you?" muttered Gammon. "You'd better get home and go tobed; the walk will cool you down. It's all up with your little game forthe present. Look here, " he added in a friendly whisper, "you may aswell tell me. Has he another wife?"

"Find out, " was Greenacre's surly answer; "and go to the devil!"

A rush, a scuffling, a crash somewhere which shook the house. Thedisturbed lodger flung open his door and shouted objurgations. Frombelow sounded the shrill alarm of Mrs. Bubb, from elsewhere the anxiousoutcries of Mrs. Cheeseman and her husband. 

Amid all this Greenacre and his quondam friend somehow reached the footof the stairs, where the darkness that enveloped their struggle was allat once dispersed by a candle in the hand of Mrs. Bubb. 

"Don't alarm yourself, " shouted Gammon cheerily, "I'm only kicking thisfellow out. No one hurt. "

"Well, Mr. Gammon, I do think--"

But the landlady's protest was cut short by a loud slamming of thehouse-door. 

"It's nothing, " said the man of commerce, breathing hard. "Very sorryto have disturbed you all. It shan't happen again. Good night, Mrs. Bubb. "

He ran up to his room, laughed a good deal as he undressed, and wasasleep five minutes afterwards. Before closing his eyes he said tohimself that he must rise at seven; business claimed him tomorrow, andhe felt it necessary to see Mrs. Clover (or Lady Polperro) with theleast possible delay. However tired, Gammon could always wake at thehour he appointed. The dark, snowy morning found him little disposed toturn out; he had something of a headache, and a very bad taste in themouth; for all that he faced duty with his accustomed vigour. Of coursehe had to leave the house without breakfast, but a cup of tea at thenearest eating-house supplied his immediate wants, and straightway hebetook himself to the china shop near Battersea Park Road. 

That was not a pleasant meeting with his friend Mrs. Clover. Todescribe all that had happened yesterday would have taxed his powers atany time; at eight-thirty a. M. On the first of January, his head achingand his stomach ill at ease, he was not likely to achieve much in theway of lucid narrative. Mrs. Clover regarded him with a severe look. His manifest black eye, and an unwonted slovenliness of appearance, could not but suggest that he had taken leave of the bygone year in atoo fervid spirit. His explanations she found difficulty in believing, but the upshot of it all--the fact that her husband lay at St. Bartholomew's Hospital--seemed beyond doubt, and this it was thatmainly concerned her. 

"I shall go at once, " she said in a hard tone, turning her face fromhim. 

"But there's something else I must tell you, " pursued Gammon, with muchawkwardness. "You don't know--who to ask for. "

The woman's eyes, even now not in their depths unkindly, searched himwith a startled expression. 

"I suppose I shall ask for Mr. Clover?"

"They wouldn't know who you meant. That isn't his real name. "

A cry escaped her; she turned pale. 

"Not his real name? I thought it--I was afraid of that! Who am I, then?What--what have I a right to call myself?"

With a glance at the door of the sitting-room, nervousness bringing thesweat to his forehead, Gammon told what he knew, all except the burningof the will, and the fact of Greenacre's mission to Ireland. Thelistener was at first sight utterly bewildered, looked incredulous, andonly when certain details had been repeated and emphasized began tograsp the reality of what she heard. 

"Oh!" she exclaimed at length in profound agitation, "that explains somany things! I never thought of this, but I've often wondered. Iunderstand now. "

She paused, struggling to control herself. Then, not without dignity, in the tone and with the face that are natural at such moments only toa woman here and there; the nobler of her sex, she added:

"I can't go to the hospital. Someone else must tell me about him. Ican't go. "

"I shall have time to call on my way, " said Gammon, "and I could sendyou a wire. "

"Will you? I can't go. "

She sobbed, but quietly, hiding her face in her hands. Gammon, moredistressed by her emotion than he had ever felt at the sight of a womanweeping, did his clumsy best to solace her. He would call at thehospital straight away and telegraph the news as soon as possible. Andanything else he could learn about Lord Polperro should be made knownto her without delay. He wrote on a piece of paper the address inSloane Street, and that of the house in Stanhope Gardens. On the pointof departure something occurred to him that it was wise to say. 

"I shouldn't do anything just yet. " He looked at her impressively. "Inyour position I should just wait a little. I'm sure it would be better, and I may be able to give you a reason before long. "

She nodded. 

"I shall do nothing--nothing. "

"That's best, I assure you. You're not angry with me? You'll shakehands?"

She gave him her hand; withdrew it quickly; turned to hide her faceagain. And Gammon hastened Citywards. 

A telegram came from him in little more than an hour. It reported thatthe patient was still unconscious and dangerously ill. 

When, later in the afternoon, Gammon went to the hospital to makeanother inquiry he learnt that Lord Polperro was dead. 

Turning away, debating whether to send the widow a. Telegram or tobreak the news by word of mouth, he saw a cab drive up, out of whichjumped Mr. Greenacre. Their eyes met, but they exchanged no sign ofrecognition. Scarcely, however, had Gammon walked a dozen yards when aquick step sounded behind him, and he was addressed in tones of themost conciliatory politeness. 

"Gammon, may I beg one word? I owe you an apology. My behaviour lastnight was quite unjustifiable. I can only explain it by the fact that Ihad undergone a severe trial to the nerves. I was not myself. May Ihope, my dear Gammon, to be forgiven? I apologize most humbly--believeme. "

"Oh, that's all right, " replied the other with a grin; "I hope I didn'thurt you?"

"My dear fellow, it would have served me right. But no--just a fewtrifling bruises. By the by, our friend has departed. "

"Dead--yes!"

"Do you know, Gammon, I think we ought to have a quiet talk. You and Ihave common interests in this matter. There will be an inquest, youknow, and the fact is I think"--he spoke very confidentially--"it mightbe as well for us both if we came to some sort of mutual understanding. As things have turned out we are victims of circumstances. Might Isuggest with all deference that we should dine together very quietly? Iknow a very suitable place. It's early for dinner, but, to tell thetruth, I have had no particular appetite, to-day; in fact, have hardlytouched food. "

Gammon accepted this invitation and decided to send a telegram to thechina shop. 

Their conference--tentative on both sides for the first half hour--ledeventually to a frank disclosure of all that was in their minds withregard to Lord Polperro. Each possessed of knowledge that made himformidable to the other, should their attitude be one of mutualhostility, they agreed, in Greenacre's phrase, to "pool" allinformation and then see how they stood. Herein Gammon had theadvantage; he learnt much more than it was in his power to communicate, for, whilst Greenacre had been playing a deliberate game, the man ofcommerce had become possessed of secrets only by chance, which hisfriend naturally could not believe. 

Greenacre had been to Ireland on the track of a woman whom LordPolperro had lost sight of for some five-and-twenty years; he hadobtained satisfactory evidence that this woman was dead--a matter ofsome moment, seeing that, if still alive, she would have been hislordship's wife. The date of her death was seven years and a few monthsago. 

"By jorrocks!" cried the listener at this point, greatly disturbed. "Then Mrs. Clover--as we call her--wasn't really his wife at all?"

"I regret to say that she was not, " replied Greenacre with propersolemnity. "I grieve to tell you that our deceased friend committedbigamy. Our deceased friend was a most peculiar man; I can't say that Iapprove of his life, viewed as a whole. "

Then came Gammon's disclosure about the burning of the will and aboutLord Polperro's intention to see his solicitor. 

Greenacre smiled grimly. 

"If I may make a personal remark, Gammon, " he said in measured tones, "I will confess that I should never have allowed the destruction ofthat document. You, my friend, if I am not mistaken, had a stillgreater interest in preventing it. That will provided very handsomelyfor Mrs. Clover, for Miss Clover, and--I may say liberally--for a younglady named Miss Sparkes. "

He smiled more grimly than ever. 

Gammon drew in his breath and refrained from speech. 

"Of course, I understand his motives, " pursued Greenacre. "They wereprudent, no doubt, and well meaning. He did not foresee that therewould be no opportunity for that interview with his solicitor. "

"Look here, Greenacre, I Want to know how you found out first of allthat he'd married twice. "

"Very simply; I took it for granted that he had. I am a student, as youknow, of genealogy, also of human nature in general. In my firstinterview with Lord Polperro I let fall a word or two which obviouslyalarmed him. That was quite enough. In his singular state of mind hejumped to the conclusion that--as they say on the stage--I kneweverything; and, of course, I very soon did; as much, that is to say, as he himself knew. He married at two-and-twenty a young girl whom hemet in Ireland; married her in his right name--Trefoyle (notClover)--and they travelled together for a year or two. Then somehowthey parted, and never saw or heard of each other again. No, there wasno child. I had little difficulty in persuading his lordship to let meinvestigate this matter for him; I did it with complete success. Thegirl belonged to a peasant family, I may tell you; she led, on thewhole, a decidedly adventurous life, and died suddenly on a ship inwhich she was returning to the old country from America. I gather thatshe never knew her husband's aristocratic connexion. Of course, I wasdiscretion itself whilst making these inquiries, and I feel pretty surethat no claim will ever be made from that quarter--the peasantfamily--on our friend's estate. "

"Why, then, " exclaimed Gammon, "what is to prevent Mrs. Clover fromcoming forward? She knows nothing; she needn't ever hear a word. "

"Gammon, you surprise me. Clearly you haven't the legal mind. How couldyou reconcile yourself to stand by whilst the law of your country wasso grossly defeated?"

"Humbug! Don't use such long words, old chap. But perhaps Polperro'sfamily knew of the marriage?"

"They did not, I can assure you. Our friend was the kind of man whodoesn't like the class in which he was born; he preferred a humblerstation. He was never on very good terms with his relatives. "

"Well, then, " Gammon persisted, "who is to let them know that Mrs. Clover wasn't the real wife? Hanged if I see why she shouldn't comeforward!"

"My friend, " replied Greenacre, smiling gently, "it will be myprivilege to make known all the facts of this case to the HonourableMiss Trefoyle, his lordship's sister and nearest surviving relative. "

"What?"

"I regard it as a simple duty. I cannot even argue the subject, Gammon;if _you_ have no conscience, _I_ have. "

Gammon sat pondering until light began to break upon him. The other, meanwhile, watched his countenance. 

"I see, " he said at length bluntly. "You think it'll do you more goodto take that side. I see. "

"Gammon, my leanings are aristocratic. They always were. It puts me ata disadvantage sometimes in our democratic society. But I disregardthat. You may call it prejudice. I, for my part, prefer to call itprinciple. I take my stand always on the side of birth and position. When you have thought about it I am sure you will forgive this weaknessin me. It need not affect our friendship. "

"Wait a bit. There's another question I want to ask. What had LordPolperro to do with the Quodlings?"

"The Quodlings? Ah! I grieve to tell you that Francis Quodling, anillegitimate half-brother of our friend, had of late given trouble tohis lordship. Francis Quodling has long been in Queer Street; he seemedto think that he had a claim--a natural claim, I might say--on LordPolperro. When you first met his lordship he had been seeing the otherQuodling on this matter. Pure kindness of heart--he was verykind-hearted. He wanted to heal a breach between the brothers, and, ifpossible, to get Francis a partnership in the firm--your firm. I fearhe exerted himself vainly. "

"Greenacre!" exclaimed the man of commerce, thumping the table. "It'sbeastly hard lines that that woman and her daughter shouldn't have apenny!"

"I agree with you. By the by, you have told her?"

"Yes, this morning. "

"Gammon, you are so impulsive. Still, I suppose she had to know. Yes, Isuppose it was inevitable. Will she molest his relatives do you think?"

"She?" Gammon reflected. "I can't quite see her doing it. She may be abit angry, but--no, I don't think she'll bother anybody. I can't seeher doing it. "

And still he meditated. 

"You reserve to yourself; I presume, the duty of acquainting her withthese painful facts?"

"Me tell her? Why, I suppose I must if it comes to that. But--I'mhanged if I shall enjoy it. Who else knows? Jorrocks! there's Polly. I'd forgotten Polly!"

Gammon grew perplexed in mind and shadowed in countenance. Of a truthPolly Sparkes had not once entered his mind since he saw her yesterday. But he must see her again, and that to-night. Whew! He would now havegiven a substantial sum to deprive Polly of the knowledge he had sorecklessly confided to her. 

"You are impulsive, my friend, " remarked the other, quietly amused. "Impulsive and lacking in foresight. "

"And you--Never mind; I won't say it. Still, you used to be a puzzle tome, Greenacre; now I feel as if I was beginning to understand you abit. "

The man of foresight--he was remarkably well-dressed thisevening--watched the smoke from his cigarette and smiled. 

CHAPTER XXIV

THE TRAVELLER'S FICKLENESS AND FRAUD

In due course a coroner and his jury sat on the body of Lord Polperro;in the order of things this inquest was publicly reported. 

Readers of newspapers learnt that the eccentric nobleman, though in aweak state of health, had the indiscretion to mingle with a crowd onNew Year's Eve; that he either accidentally fell or was knocked down bysome person unknown in the rough-and-tumble of the hour; in short, thathis death might fairly be accounted for by misadventure. The results ofthe autopsy were not made known in detail, but a professional whisperwent about that among the causes contributory to Lord Polperro's deathwere congestion of the lungs, softening of the brain, chronicinflammation of the stomach, drunkard's liver, and Bright's disease ofthe kidneys. 

The unprofessional persons who came forward were Mr. Gammon, LordPolperro's housekeeper, and Miss Trefoyle. The name of Greenacre wasnot so much as mentioned; the existence of a lady named Mrs. Cloverremained unknown to court and public. 

On the following day Mr. Gammon had a private interview with MissTrefoyle. He was aware that this privilege had already been sought byand granted to Mr. Greenacre, and as his one great object was to avertshame and sorrow from his friends at Battersea Park, Gammon acquittedhimself with entire discretion; that is to say, he did not allow MissTrefoyle to suspect that there had been anything between him and herbrother except a sort of boon companionship. In behaving thus he knewthat he was acting as Mrs. Clover most earnestly desired. Not manyhours before he had discharged what he felt to be his duty, had madeknown to Mrs. Clover the facts of her position, and had heard theunforgettable accent of her voice as she entreated him to keep thissecret. That there might be no doubt as to the truth of Greenacre'sassertions he had accompanied that gentleman to Somerset House, and hadperused certain entries in the registers of marriage and of deathindicated to him by his friend's forefinger; clearly then, if he andGreenacre kept silence, it would never become known, even to Polperro'skinsfolk, that his lordship had been guilty of bigamy. 

Stay! one other person knew the true name of Mrs. Clover'shusband--Polly Sparkes. 

"Polly be hanged, " muttered Gammon. 

"When is the wedding?" Greenacre inquired casually in one of theirconversations. 

"Wedding? Whose wedding?"

"Why, yours. "

Gammon's face darkened. A change had come about in his emotions. He wasafraid of Polly, he was weary of Polly, he heartily wished he had neverseen Polly's face. For self-scrutiny Gammon had little inclination andless aptitude; he could not have explained the origin and progress ofhis nearer relations with Miss Sparkes. Going straight to the point, like a man of business, he merely knew that he had made a condemnablemistake, and the question was how to put things right. 

"There's one bit of luck, " he remarked, instead of answering theinquiry, "she isn't on speaking terms with her aunt. "

"I'm rather glad to hear that. But do you think she'll hold out againsther curiosity?"

"In any case she won't learn anything from Mrs. Clover. I'm pretty sureof that. "

"I can only hope you're right about Mrs. Clover, " said Greenacremusingly. "If so, she must be a rather uncommon sort of woman, especially--if you will excuse the remark--in that class. "

"She is, " replied Gammon with noteworthy emphasis. "I don't know awoman like her--no one like her. I wouldn't mind betting all I havethat she'll never speak a word as long as she lives about that man. She'll never tell her daughter. Minnie will suppose that her fatherturned up somehow just for a few hours and then went off again for goodand all. "

"Remarkable woman, " murmured Greenacre. "It saves trouble, of course. "

Possibly he was reflecting whether it might be to his advantage or notto reveal this little matter in Stanhope Gardens. Perhaps it seemed tohim on the whole that he had done wisely in making known to MissTrefoyle only the one marriage (which she might publish or not as herconscience dictated), and that his store of private knowledge was thericher by a detail he might or might not some day utilize. For Mr. Greenacre had a delicacy of his own. He did not merely aim at sordidprofits. In avowing his weakness for aristocratic companionship he tolda truth which explained many singularities in what would otherwise havebeen a career of commonplace dishonesty. 

"I suppose she must be told, " said Gammon with bent head. "Polly, Imean. "

"Miss Sparkes is a young lady of an inquiring spirit. She will want toknow why she does not benefit by Lord Polperro's death. "

"You told her yourself about the will, remember. "

"I did. As things turn out it was a pity. By the by, I should like tohave seen that document. As Cuthbertson has no knowledge of it, ourdeceased friend no doubt drafted it himself. More likely than not itwould have been both amusing and profitable to the lawyers, like hisfather's in the days of our youth. I wonder whether he called Mrs. Clover his wife? We shall never solve all these interesting doubts. "

"I had better not let Polly know he burnt it, " remarked Gammon. 

"Why, no; I shouldn't advise that, " said the other with a smile. "But Ihave heard that married men--"

"Shut up! I'm not going to marry her. "

Driven to this bold declaration, Gammon at once felt such great reliefthat he dared everything. 

"Then there'll be the devil to pay, " said Greenacre. 

"Wait a bit. Of course I shall take my time about breaking off. "

"Gammon, I am surprised and shocked--not for the first time--at yourutter want of principle. "

Each caught the other's eye. The muscles of their faces relaxed, andthey joined in a mirthful peal. 

It was a long and exciting week for the town traveller. Greenacre, always on the look out for romance in common life, was never surprisedwhen he discovered it, but to Gammon it came with such a sense ofnovelty that he had much ado to keep a clear head for everyday affairs. He drove about London as usual, but beset with fantastic visions anddesires. Not only was Polly quite dismissed from his thoughts (in thetender sense), but he found himself constantly occupied with the imageof Mrs. Clover, heretofore seldom in his mind, notwithstanding herbrightness and comeliness and the friendship they had so long felt foreach other. Minnie he had forgotten; the mother came before him in sucha new light that he could hardly believe his former wish to call hermother-in-law. This strange emotion was very disturbing. As if he hadnot worry enough already!

Delicacy kept him away from the china shop. He knew how hard it must befor the poor woman to disguise her feelings before Minnie and otherpeople. Minnie, to be sure, would understand signs of distress as aresult of her father's brief reappearance, but Mrs. Clover's positionwas no less lamentable. He wished to be at her side endeavouring toconsole her. Yet, as likely as not, all he said would give her morepain than comfort. 

Ah, but there was a woman! Was he likely ever to meet another who hadpluck and goodness and self-respect like hers? Minnie? Some day, perhaps, being her mother's daughter. But Minnie, after all, was littlemore than a child. And he could no longer think of her in the old wayit made him uncomfortable if he tried to do so. 

Polly? Ah, Polly! Polly be hanged!

He had an appointment with her for this evening--not at the theatredoor, for Polly no longer went to the theatre. Change in the managementhad put an end to her pleasant and lucrative evenings; she had tried invain to get like employment at other places. In a letter received thismorning she remarked significantly that of course it was not worthwhile to take up any other pursuit again. 

It could not be called a delightful letter from any point of view. Polly had grown tired of uniform sweetness, and indulged herself inphrases of an acid flavour. 

"Haven't you got anything yet to tell me about the will? If I don'thear anything from you before long I shall jolly well go and asksomebody else. I believe you know more than you want to tell, which Icall it shameful. Mind you bring some news to-night. "

They met at six o'clock in the Lowther Arcade; it was raining, cold, and generally comfortless. By way of cheery beginning Gammon declaredthat he was hungry, and invited Miss Sparkes to eat with him. 

They transferred themselves to a restaurant large enough to allow oftheir conversing as they chose under cover of many noises. Gammon hadby this time made up his mind to a very bold step, a stratagem soaudacious that assuredly it deserved to succeed. Only despair couldhave supplied him with such a suggestion and with the nerve requisitefor carrying it out. 

"What about that will?" asked Polly, as soon as they were seated andthe order had been given. 

"There is no will. "

This answer, and the carelessness with which it was uttered, took awayPolly's breath. She glared, and unconsciously handled a table knife inan alarming way. 

"What d'you mean? Who are you kidding?"

"He's left no will. And what's more, if he had, your name wouldn't havebeen in it, old girl. "

"Oh, indeed! We'll soon see about that! I'll go straight from 'ere tothat 'ouse, see if I don't I'll see his sister for myself this verynight, so there!"

"Go it, Polly, you're welcome, my dear. You'll wake 'em up in StanhopeGardens. "

The waiter interrupted their colloquy. Gammon began to eat; Polly, heeding not the savoury dish, kept fierce eyes upon him. 

"What d'you mean? Don't go stuffing like a pig but listen to me, andtell me what you're up to. "

"You're talking about Lord P. , ain't you?" asked Gammon in a lowervoice. 

"Course I am. "

"And you think he was your uncle? So did I till a few days ago. Well, Polly, he wasn't. Lord P. Didn't know you from Adam, nor your aunteither. "

He chuckled, and ate voraciously. The artifice seemed to him better andbetter, enjoyment of it gave him a prodigious appetite. 

"If you'll get on with your eating I'll tell you about it. Do youremember what I told you about the fellow Quodling in the City? Well, listen to this. Lord P. Had another brother knocking about--youunderstand, a brother--like Quodling, who had no name of his own. Andthis brother, Polly, is your uncle Clover. "

Miss Sparkes did not fail to understand, but she at once and utterlydeclined to credit the statement. 

"You mean to say it wasn't Lord P. At all as I met--as I saw at thetheatre?"

"You saw his illegitimate brother, your uncle, and never Lord P. Atall. Now just listen. This fellow who called himself Clover is aprecious rascal. We don't know as much about him as we'd like to, but Idare say we shall find out more. How did he come to be sitting withthose ladies in the theatre, you're wanting to ask? Simple enough. Knowing his likeness to the family of Lord Polperro he palmed himselfoff on them as a distant relative, just come back from the colonies;they were silly enough to make things soft for him. He seems to havegot money, no end of it, out of Lord P. No doubt he was jollyfrightened when you spotted him, and you know how he met you once ortwice and tipped you. That's the story of your Uncle Clover, Polly. "

The girl was impressed. She could believe anything ill of Mrs. Clover'shusband. Her astonishment at learning that he was a lord had neverwholly subsided. That he should be a cunning rascal seemed vastly moreprobable. 

"But what about that letter you sent--eh?" pursued Gammon with anartful look. "Didn't you address it to Lord P. Himself? So you did, Polly. But listen to this. By that time Lord P. And his people hadfound out Clover's little game; never mind _how_, but they had. Youremember that he wouldn't come again to meet you at Lincoln's Inn. Goodreason, old girl; he had had to make himself scarce. Lord P. Had set auseful friend of his--that's Greenacre--to look into Clover's history. Greenacre, you must know, is a private detective. " He nodded solemnly. "Well now, when your letter came to Lord P. He showed it to Greenacre, and they saw at once that it couldn't be meant for him, but no doubtwas meant for Clover. 'I'll see to this, ' said Greenacre. And so hecame to meet us that night. "

"But it was _you_ told me he was Lord P. , " came from the listener. 

"I did, Polly. Not to deceive you, my dear, but because I was taken inmyself. I'd found what they call a mare's nest. I was on the wrongscent. I take all the blame to myself. "

"But why did Greenacre go on with us like that? Why didn't he say atonce that it wasn't Lord P. As had met me?"

"Why? Because private detectives are cautious chaps. Greenacre wantedto catch Clover, and didn't care to go talking about the story toeverybody. He deceived me, Polly, just as much as you. "

She had begun to eat, swallowing a mouthful now and then mechanically, the look of resentful suspicion still on her face. 

"And what do you think?" pursued her companion, after a deliciousdraught of lager beer. "Would you believe that only a day or two beforeLord P. 's death the fellow Clover went to your aunt's house, to thechina shop, and stayed overnight there! What do you think of that, eh?He did. Ask Mrs. Clover. He went there to hide, and to get money fromhis wife. "

This detail evidently had a powerful effect. Polly ate and drank andruminated, one eye on the speaker. 

"I got to know of that, " went on the wily Gammon. "And I toldGreenacre. And Greenacre made me tell it to Lord P. Himself. And that'show I came to be with Lord P. On New Year's Eve! Now you've got it all. "

"Why didn't you tell me?" asked Polly with ferocity. 

"Ah, why? I was ashamed to, my dear. I couldn't own up that I'd made afool of myself and you too. "

"How did you know that he'd been at my aunt's?"

"She sent for me, Polly; sent for me and told me, because I was an oldfriend. And I was so riled at the fellow coming and going in that waythat I spoke to Greenacre about it. And then Greenacre told me howthings were. I felt a fool, I can tell you. But the fact is, I neversaw two men so like in the face as Clover and Lord P. "

"When you was there--at my aunt's--did you talk about me?" asked thegirl with a peculiar awkwardness. 

"Not a word, I swear! We were too much taken up with the otherbusiness. "

For a minute or two neither spoke. 

"And you mean to say, " burst at length from Polly, "that my uncle'sstill alive and going about?"

"All alive and kicking, not a doubt of it, and Lord P. Buried at KensalGreen; no will left behind him, and all his property going to the nextof kin, of course. Now listen here, Polly. I want to tell you that Ishouldn't wonder if you have a letter from Greenacre. He may be askingyou to meet him. "

"What for?"

"Just to have a talk about Clover--see? He's still after Clover, and hethinks you might be of use to him. I leave it to you--understand? Youcan meet him if you like; there's no harm. He'll tell you all the storyif you ask him nicely. "

On this idea, which had occurred to him in the course of his glowingmendacity, Gammon acted as soon as he and Polly had said good-bye. Hediscovered Greenacre, who no longer slept at the Bilboes, but in ahouse of like cosiness and obscurity a little farther west; told him ofthe brilliant ingenuity with which he had escaped from a gallingcomplication, and received his promise of assistance in strengtheningthe plot. Greenacre wrote to Polly that very night, and on the morrowconversed with her, emphasizing by many devices the secrecy andimportance of their interview. Would Polly engage to give him thebenefit of her shrewdness, her knowledge of life, in his search for theman Clover? His air of professional eagerness, his nods, winks, andflattery so wrought upon the girl that she ceased to harbour suspicion. Her primitive mind, much fed on penny fiction, accepted all she wastold, and in the consciousness of secret knowledge affecting lords andladies she gave up without a sigh the air-drawn vision of being herselfactually a member of an aristocratic family. 

At the same time she thought of Gammon with disappointment, with vagueirritation, and began all but to wish that she had never weaklypardoned him for his insulting violence at Mrs. Bubbs'. 

CHAPTER XXV

THE MISSING WORD

Just at this time the inhabitants of England--one might say of theBritish Isles--but more especially those privileged to dwell in Londonand its suburbs, submitted to one of the waves of intellectualexcitement which, as is well known, are wont at intervals to pass overthis fervidly imaginative people. Some representativeperson--ingenious, philosophic, and ardent for the public good--hadconceived in a bright moment a thought destined to stir with zeal thepensive leisure of millions. This genius owned, or edited, a weeklypaper already dear to the populace, and one day he announced in itscolumns a species of lottery--ignoble word dignified by the use heremade of it. Readers of adequate culture were invited to exercise theirlearning and their wit in the conjectural completion of a sentence--noquotation, but an original apophthegm--whereof one word was representedby a blank. Each competitor sent, together with the fruit of his eagerbrain, a small sum of money, and the brilliant enthusiast who at theearliest moment declared the missing word reaped as guerdon the totalof these numerous remittances. It was an amusement worthy of our time;it appealed alike to the villa and the humble lodging, encouraged thehabit of literary and logical discussion, gave an impulse to the saleof dictionaries. High and low, far and wide, a spirit of nobleemulation took hold upon the users of the English tongue. "The missingword"--from every lip fell the phrase which had at first sounded somysteriously; its vogue exceeded that, in an earlier time, of "themissing link. " The demand for postage stamps to be used in transmittingthe entrance fee threatened to disorganize that branch of the publicservice; sorting clerks and letter carriers, though themselvescontributory, grew dismayed at the additional labour imposed upon them. 

Naturally the infection was caught by most of the lively little groupof Londoners in whose fortunes we are interested. Mr. Gammon threwhimself with mirthful ardour into a competition which might prove solucrative. Mr. Greenacre gave part of his supple mind to this newbranch of detective energy. The newly-wedded pair, Mr. And Mrs. Nibby, ceased from the wrangling that follows upon a honeymoon, and incitedeach other to a more profitable contest. The Parish household devotedevery possible moment with native earnestness to the choice and theweighing of vocables. Polly Sparkes, unable to get upon the track ofher missing uncle, abandoned her fiery intelligence to the missingword. The Cheeseman couple, Mrs. Bubb, nay, even Moggie the general, dared verbal conjecture and risked postage stamps. Only in a certainchina shop near Battersea Park Road was the tumult unregarded, for Mrs. Clover had fallen from her wonted health, her happy temper, and Minniein good truth cared neither for the recreation nor the dangled prize. 

When Gammon and Polly met they talked no longer of Lord Polperro orUncle Clover, but of words. 

"I've got it this time, Polly! I swear I've got it! 'Undeservedmisfortune is often a--to the noble mind. ' Why, it's _stimulus_, ofcourse!"

"I never heard the word, " declared Polly. "I'm sending in _stroke_. "

"_Stroke_? What do you mean by that?"

"What do I mean by it? Why, what they want to say is, that 'Undeservedmisfortune is often a _blow_ to the noble mind, ' don't they? But _blow_can't be the word, 'cause everybody'd get it. The dictionary gives_stroke_ for _blow_, and I'm sure that's it. "

"Rot! they don't mean to say that at all! It ain't a _blow_ to thenoble mind, it's just the opposite; that's what _they_ mean. "

"How can it be the opposyte?" shrilled Polly. "Ain't it a knock-down ifyou get what you don't deserve?"

"I tell you _they_ don't mean that. Can't you understand? Why, it's asplain as the nose on your face. "

"Is it?" retorted Polly with indignation. "If I've got a plain nose, why didn't you tell me so before? If that's your way of talking to alady--"

"Don't be a fool, Polly! It's a saying, ain't it?"

And they parted as usual, in dudgeon on both sides, which was notsoothed when both found themselves wrong in the literary contest; forthe missing word this week, discovered by an East-end licensedvictualler, was _pick-me-up_. 

Public opinion found fault with this editorial English. There rose ageneral murmur; the loftier spirits demanded a purer vocabulary, themultitude wanted to know whether that licensed victualler reallyexisted. All looked for an easy word next week; easy it must be thistime, or the game would begin to lose its zest. When the new numberwent forth in its myriads of copies, and was snatched from streetvendors, stalls, shops, general expectation seemed to be justified. 

"As nations grow civilized they give more and more attention to--"

Every man, every woman, had a word ready. Mr. Greenacre said nothing, but hastily wrote down _genealogy_. Gammon, before consulting withPolly Sparkes, sent off his postage stamps and _commerce_. Mr. And Mrs. Parish declared in one shout that the word could only be _hyjene_. 

"Nonsense!" said Christopher, who was in the room. "That's just becauseyou're always thinking of it. "

For all that, as he went to business the word hummed in his head. Itmight be the solution after all; his objection originated only in scornof a word so familiar, and therefore, he had thought at first, soimprobable. But, really, the more he thought of it--

In his pocket he carried an envelope, already addressed, and a blanksheet of paper enfolding stamps. Should he once more enter thelottery--risk the price of a luncheon? He had resolved not to do so, but every moment the temptation gained upon him. "Hyjene. " By the by, how did one spell the word? _H-y_--he grew uncertain at the thirdletter. Misspelling, he knew, would invalidate his chance; on the otherhand, he must post as soon as possible; already thousands of answerswere on their way to the office of the editor. 

He was sitting in a London Bridge tram-car. At its next stoppage thereentered a staid old gentleman, with whom he had made the Citywardjourney for years; they always nodded to each other. This morning thegrave senior chanced to take a place at his side, and a greeting passedbetween them. Christopher felt a sudden impulse, upon which he actedbefore timidity and other obstacles could interfere. 

"Would you tell me, sir, " he whispered, "the c'rect spelling of_hyjene_; meaning 'ealthiness, you know?"

"Why, what a queer thing!" answered his neighbour with allfriendliness. "I've just been reading the word in the paper. Here isit. "

He folded the sheet conveniently for Christopher's inspection, andpointed--

"_H-y-g-i-e-n-e_. "

Mr. Parish read eagerly, his eyes close to the print, dreading lest heshould forget. 

"Thanks very much, sir. I--a friend of mine told me I was wrong. I knewI wasn't--thanks awfully!"

The white-haired man smiled approval, and returned to his study of thenews. Christopher kept spelling the word in silence, and though theweather was very cold, soon perspired under the dread that he had got aletter wrong. At St. George's Church agitation quite overcame him; hehurried from the car, ran into a by-street, and with his pocket pencilwrote on the blank sheet of paper "Hygiene. " Yes, he had it right. Itlooked right. Now for the nearest letter-box. 

But his faith in "Hygiene" had risen to such fervour that he dreadedthe delay of postal delivery. Why not carry the letter himself to theeditorial office, which was at no very great distance? He would, eventhough it made him late at Swettenham's. And he began to run. 

Panting, but exultant, he delivered his answer in the nationalcompetition, thus gaining a march upon the unhappy multitudes who dweltfar away, and whose resource and energy fell short of his. Then helooked at the time and was frightened; he would be dreadfullyunpunctual at business; Swettenham's might meet him with stern rebuke. There was nothing for it, he hailed a cab. 

Only in the middle of the morning did he remember that he had in hispocket a love-letter to Polly Sparkes, which he had meant to postearly. He had seen Polly a few days ago, and suspected that she was insome sort of trouble and difficulty, possibly--though she deniedit--caused by her want of employment. Polly declared that she hadresources which enabled her to take a holiday. Not very long ago such astatement would have racked Christopher with jealous suspicions;suspicious he was, and a little uneasy, but not to the point of mentaltorture. The letter in his pocket declared that he could never cease tolove Polly, and that he groaned over the poverty which condemned him toidle hopes; for all that, he thought much less of her just now than ofthe missing word. And when, in the luncheon hour, he posted his amorousmissive, it was with almost a careless hand. 

On this same day it happened that Mr. Gammon, speeding about hisbusiness in Messrs. Quodlings' neat little trap, found he couldconveniently stop for a midday meal somewhere near Battersea Park Road. The boy who accompanied him took the horse to bait, and Mr. Gammonpresently directed his steps to the little china shop. 

Mrs. Clover had just finished dinner; her female assistant had returnedinto the shop, and by her Gammon sent a request for a moment's privateconversation. He soon entered the sitting-room. 

"It's strange you have looked in to-day, " said Mrs. Clover, with thedull air of one who has a headache. "I wanted to see you. "

"I'm very glad. "

He sat down at a distance from her and observed her face. This was anew habit of his; he saw more, much more, than he had been wont to seein the healthy, sweet-tempered, and still young countenance; itspresent languor disturbed him. 

"What was it, Mrs. Clover?" he asked in a voice not quite like his own. 

"Well, I wanted to speak about Polly. Her father has been here askingquestions. "

Gammon set his lips almost angrily. 

"What's wrong?"

"I don't know as anything is. But--have you heard anything about hergoing to be married?"

"Has she told her father that?" he asked, with a shuffle of his feet. 

"Not in plain words. But she's doing nothing--except roam about thestreets--and she won't give any straightforward account of herself. Nowwould you mind telling me, Mr. Gammon, whether"--her eyes fell--"Imean, if you've done anything since that night, you know, to make heroffended with you?"

"Offended? Not that I know of, " was his prompt answer with genuinesurprise. 

Mrs. Clover watched him, and seemed not dissatisfied. 

"I'll tell you why I ask. Some time ago she wrote me a queer letter. Itsaid she _was_ going to be married--or thought about it; and there wassomething I couldn't understand about _you_. I shall show you thatletter. I think it's only right. "

She withdrew for a moment and returned with Polly's abusive epistle, which she handed to her visitor. 

Gammon first read it, then looked for a date, but none was discernible. 

"When did you get this?" he asked. 

Mrs. Clover could mention the very day, and on reflecting Gammon feltsure that Polly must have written this just before the exciting eventswhich threw him and her into each other's arms. In the same moment herecalled Polly's eagerness to become possessed of a letter she hadposted to him--the letter he was not to open. 

"You may well say it's queer. " He laughed and laughed again. "She givesme a nice character, eh? And you've been wondering what I'd done? AllI've got to say is, that it's a blessed lie from beginning to end. Butperhaps you won't believe me?"

"I will believe you if you tell me plain and straight that you hadn'tdone anything wrong--nothing to be ashamed of. "

"Well, then, I do tell you that. I never gave her the least cause tospeak of me in that way. It's all lies. "

"I more than half thought it was. "

Mrs. Clover heaved a sigh and looked more cheerful. 

"And what, " she added, "does she mean about marrying a gentleman?"

"That's more than I can tell you. "

Again he laughed, laughed like a man enjoying sudden relief of mind. 

"More than I can tell you, Mrs. Clover. But I'll see if I can't findout; indeed I will. Her friends, the Nibby's, may be able to tell mesomething. Have you asked her to come and see you?"

"No. For one thing I don't know the address, and after a letter likethis--"

"Quite right. Leave it to me. " He bent his head, hesitated, and addedquietly, "I may have something to tell you. "

Thereupon they parted, and Mrs. Clover felt her head so much betterthat she was able to attend to business. 

CHAPTER XXVI

A DOUBLE EVENT

With clang and twang the orchestra (a music-hall orchestra) summoned tohilarity an audience of the first half-hour; stragglers at variousprices, but all alike in their manifest subdual by a cold atmosphere, adull illumination, empty seats, and inferior singers put on for theearly "turns. " A striking of matches to kindle pipe or cigar, athudding of heavy boots, clink of glass or pewter, and a waiter'sspiritless refrain--"Any orders, gents?" Things would be betterpresently. In the meantime Mr. Gammon was content to have found a placewhere he could talk with Polly, sheltered from the January night, atsmall expense. He sipped thoughtfully from a tumbler of rich Scotch; heglanced cautiously at his companion, who seemed very much under theinfluence of the hour. Polly, in fact, had hardly spoken. Her wintercostume could not compare in freshness and splendour with that whichhad soothed her soul through the bygone sunny season; to tell thetruth, she was all but shabby. But Gammon had no eye for this. He wastrying to read Polly's thoughts, and wondering how she could take whathe had made up his mind to tell her. 

"I saw your aunt yesterday. "

"You did?"

"Yes, I did. She was telling me about a letter she had from you sometime ago--the last letter you wrote her. "

Their eyes met. Miss Sparkes was defiant--on her guard, but not whollycourageous; Gammon twinkled a mocking smile, and held himself ready forwhatever might come. 

"She shows you people's letters, does she?" said Polly with a sneer. 

"This one she did. Good reason. It was funny reading, old girl. That'syour opinion of me, is it? Do you mind telling me who the gentlemanis--the _real_ gentleman--you think of taking up with?"

Gammon could not strike a really ungenerous note. He had meant to besevere, but did not get beyond sly banter. 

"She's a cat for showing it to you!" replied Miss Sparkes. "That waswrote before we--you know what. It was after you'd took your 'ook thatSunday on the Embankment. I didn't mean it. I was a bit cross. I'll payher out some day for this, see if I don't. "

Much more did Polly say, the gist of it all being an evident desire tosoothe her companion's feelings. Gammon found himself in an unexpectedand awkward position. He had taken for granted an outbreak of violence, he had counted upon the opportunity of mutual invective, he wished totell Polly to go further. In the face of such singular mildness he wasat a loss for weapons. Mere brutality would soon have settled thematter, but of that Mr. Gammon was incapable. At this juncture too, asif in support of Polly's claim to indulgence, a strain, irresistible byheart of man, preluded a song of the affections. Gammon began tounderstand what a mistake it was to have brought Polly to a music-hallfor the purpose of breaking with her. Under cover of the languishinglyric Miss Sparkes put her head nearer to him. 

"What am I to do, eh?"

"To do?"

"I cawn't go on like this. Do you want me to get another job somewhere?I sh'd think you might see I cawn't wear this jacket much longer. "

The crisis was dreadful. Gammon clutched at the only possible method ofappeasing his conscience, and postponing decisive words he took Polly'shand--poorly gloved--and secretly pressed the palm with a coin, whichPolly in less than a clock-tick ascertained to be one pound sterling. She smiled. "What's that for?"

"For--for the present. "

And in this way another evening went by, leaving things as before. 

"I'd never have believed I was such a fool, " said Gammon to himself ata late hour. He meant, of course, that experience was teaching him forthe first time the force of a moral obligation, which, as theorist, hehad always held mere matter for joke. He by no means prided himself onthis newly-acquired perception; he saw it only as an obstacle tobusiness-like behaviour. But it was there, and--by jorrocks! theoutlook began to alarm him. 

Meanwhile Mr. Greenacre was pursuing a laudable object. Greatly pleasedat the dexterity with which Miss Sparkes had been hoodwinked in thematter of Lord Polperro and her Uncle Clover, he determined to set allat rest in that direction by making Polly believe that Mr. Clover, heruncle himself as distinct from Lord Polperro, was also dead and goneand done for. Gammon knew of the design and strongly favoured it, forhe was annoyed by Mrs. Clover's false position; he wished her to beproclaimed a widow, without the necessity of disagreeable revelations. 

An exciting post card brought about one more interview between MissSparkes and the so-called private detective. They met in a spot chosenfor its impressiveness, the City office of a great line of oceansteamers. When Polly had with some difficulty discovered the place andentered shyly she was met by Greenacre, who at once drew her aside andbegan talking in a whisper with much show of worry and perturbation. Inhis hand rustled a printed form, with a few words in pencil. 

"It's all over, Miss Sparkes. We have no more hope. This last cablesettles it. Don't let me agitate you. But I thought it best that youshould come here and see the cable for yourself. " Sinking his voice andwith his lips at her ear he added, "Your uncle is dead. "

Polly was not overcome. 

"Is it _reely_ him this time?"

"Clover--not a doubt of it. I got on his track, but too late, he wasoff to South Africa. Here is a cable from the Cape. He died atsea--some obscure disease, probably an affection of the heart--and wasburied off the West Coast. Read it for yourself. 'Clover, second cabinpassenger, died and buried 23. 4 S. , 8. 2 S. ; effects awaitinstructions. ' There he lies at the bottom of the sea, poor fellow. This is only a confirmatory cable; I have spent lots of money inlearning particulars. Perhaps you would like to see one of theofficials about it, Miss Sparkes? Unfortunately they can only repeatwhat I have told you. "

Polly had no desire to hold converse with these gentlemen; she wasthoroughly awed and convinced by Greenacre's tones and the atmosphereof the office. 

"I have already communicated with your aunt. I dare say you would liketo go and see her. "

But neither for this had Polly any present inclination. She wanted tobe alone and to reflect. Having made sure that she was not likely tovisit Mrs. Clover forthwith, Greenacre took his leave, blending adecent melancholy with the air of importance and hurry proper to a maninvolved in so much business. 

This week she had not entered for the missing word competition; and asfew things interested Polly in which she had no personal concern, themorning on which the result was published found her in her ordinaryframe of mind. She was thinking of Gammon, determined to hold him tohis engagement, but more out of obstinacy than in obedience to thedictates of her heart, which had of late grown decidedly less fervid. Gammon could keep her respectably; he would make a very presentablehusband; she did not fear ill treatment from him. On the other hand, she felt only too certain that he would be the stronger. When it cameto a struggle (the inevitable result of marriage in Polly's mind)Gammon was not the man to give in. She remembered the battle at Mrs. Bubb's. All very well, that kind of thing, in days of courtship, butafter marriage--no! Some girls might be willing to find their master. Polly had always meant to rule, and that undisputedly. 

Breakfasting in her bedroom at ten o'clock, she was surprised by thereceipt of a telegram. It came from Christopher Parish and ran thus:

"Great news. Do meet me at entrance to Liverpool Street Station oneo'clock. Wonderful news. "

What this news could be puzzled her for a moment; then she rememberedthat Mr. Parish had spoke of a possible "rise" at Swettenham's early inthe New Year. That must be it. He had got an increase of salary;perhaps five shillings a week more; no doubt. 

Would that make any difference? Was it "good enough"? So her thoughtsphrased the anxious question. 

Regarding Christopher one thing was certain--he would be her veryhumble slave. She imagined herself his wife, she pictured him incliningto revolt, she saw the results of that feeble insubordination, andlaughed aloud. Christopher was respectable; he would undoubtedlycontinue to rise at Swettenham's, he would take a pride in themagnificence of her costume. When her temper called for natural reliefshe could quarrel with him by the hour without the least apprehension, and in the end would graciously forgive him. Yes, there was much to besaid for Christopher. 

A little before one o'clock she was at Liverpool Street, sheltered froma drizzle that brought down all the smoke of myriad chimneys. A slimfigure in overcoat and shining hat rushed through the puddles towardsher, waving an umbrella to the peril of other people speeding only lessfrantically. 

"Polly! I've got it!"

He could gasp no more; he seized her arm as if for support. 

"How much is it?" she asked calmly. 

"Five hundred and fifty pounds! _Hyjene_!"

"What--five hundred and fifty a year?"

Christopher stared at her. 

"You don't understand. The missing word. I've got it this week. Chequefor five hundred and fifty pounds! _Hyjene_!"

"_Reely_!"

"Look here--here's the cheque! _Hyjene_!"

Polly fingered the paper, studied the inscription. All the time she wasthinking that this sum of money would furnish a house in a style vastlysuperior to that of Mrs. Nibby's. Mrs. Nibby would go black in the facewith envy, hatred, and malice. As she reflected Christopher talked, drawing her to the least-frequented part of the huge roaring railwaystation. 

"Will you, Polly? Why don't you speak? Do, Polly, do!"

She all but spoke, would have done but for an ear-rending whistle froman engine. 

"I shall have a rise, too, Polly. I'm feeling my feet at Swettenham's. Who knows what I may get to? Polly, I might--I might some day have abig business of my own, and build a house at Eastbourne. It's all onthe cards, Polly. Others have done it before me. Swettenham began as aclerk--he did. Think Polly, five hundred and fifty pounds!--_Hyjene_!"

She met his eye; she nodded. 

"You _will_?"

"Don't mind if I do. "

"Hooray! _Hyjene_ forever! Hooray-ay-ay!"

CHAPTER XXVII

THE TRAVELLER AT REST

Two or three days after this Gammon heard unexpectedly from Mrs. Clover, who enclosed for his perusal a letter she had just receivedfrom Polly Sparkes. What, she asked, could be the meaning of Polly'sreference to her deceased uncle? Was there never to be an end ofmysteries and miseries in relation to that unhappy man?

Turning to Polly's scrawl (which contrasted so strongly with Mrs. Clover's neat, clear hand), Gammon discovered the passage which haddisturbed his correspondent. "You mustn't expect me to go into blackfor your husband, for uncle I won't call him. I heard about him comingto you for money and then taking his hook because detectives was afterhim. A nice sort of man. It's a pity he had to be buried at the bottomof the sea, where you can't put up a monniment to him, as I'm sure youwould like to do. So this is all I have to say, and I shall not troubleyou again. "

Here was no puzzle for Gammon, who had approved Greenacre's scheme forfinally getting rid of Mr. Clover. But Polly's letter began with anannouncement which occasioned him the greatest surprise he had knownsince the identification of Clover with Lord Polperro. So completelydid it engross and confuse his mind that not until some quarter of anhour elapsed could he think about the passage quoted above. "I write toinform you, " began Miss Sparkes, without any introductory phrase, "thatI am going to be married to a gentleman who has a high place atSwettenham's, the big tea merchants, and his name is Mr. Parish. He haswon the missing word, which is five hundred and fifty pounds, andwhich, every penny of it, he will spend on furniture at one of the bestplaces. You shall have one of our cards when we send them out, though Icannot say you have behaved accordingly. The reason I do not invite youto the wedding is because Mr. Parish's friends are very particular. "

After reading these remarkable lines again and again Mr. Gammon wasmuch disposed to shout; but something restrained him. He felt, perhaps, that shouting would be inadequate or even inappropriate. When his firstemotions subsided he went quietly forth from the house (it was evening)and took a walk about the adjacent streets, stopping at a stationer'sto purchase note-paper. Returned to his room he gently whistled anold-fashioned melody; his face passed from grave thoughtfulness to amerry smile. Before going to bed he meant to write a letter, but therewas no hurry; two hours had to pass before the midnight collection. 

The letter was brief, lucid, sensible. He explained to Mrs. Clover thatthe painfulness and difficulty of her situation since Lord Polperro'sdeath had impelled him to a strange, but harmless and justifiable, expedient for putting her affairs in order. He made known the nature ofthe artifice, which, "for several reasons, " he had tried in the firstinstance upon Polly Sparkes, with complete success. If Mrs. Clover tookhis advice she would straightway go into moderate mourning and let itbe known that her husband was dead. Reserve as to details would seemstrange to no one; ordinary acquaintances might be told that Mr. Cloverhad died abroad, friends and relatives that he had died at sea. Hehoped she would not be offended by what he had done, as it relieved herfrom a wretched burden of secrecy, and greatly improved the position ofher daughter, Miss Minnie. She need not reply to this letter unless sheliked, and he would make an opportunity of calling upon her before verylong. 

A week passed without reply. 

By discreet inquiry Gammon learnt that Mrs. Clover had assumed the garbof widowhood, and this was quite enough. 

"There, " he said to himself, "there's an end of lies!" And he shook hisshoulders as if to get quite clear of the unpleasant entanglement; for, Mr. Gammon, though ingenious at a pinch, had no natural bent towardsfalsehood. To be rid at almost the same moment of Mr. Clover and PollySparkes seemed to him marvellous good luck; and in these bitter, soddendays of the early year he was lighter hearted than for many months. 

He had heard from Polly:

"DEAR MR. GAMMON, "I don't think we are suited to each other, which is better for bothparties. I shall send you a wedding-card in a few days, and I'm sure Iwish you all happiness. And so I remain with my best respects, "Yours truly Miss SPARKES"

This time Mr. Gammon felt no restraint upon his mirth. He threw hishead back and roared joyously. That same day he went to a jeweller'sand purchased--for more than he could afford--a suitable trinket, andsent it with a well-meaning note to Polly's address. 

Winter brightened into spring, spring bloomed into summer. Gammon hadpaid several visits to the china shop, where all was going very wellindeed. Minnie Clover now spent her evenings almost invariably with theyoung man interested in ceramic art, but it never disturbed Gammon tohave ocular evidence of the fact. With Mrs. Clover he conversed in therespectfully familiar tone of an old friend, now and then reportinglittle matters which concerned his own welfare, such as his growingconviction that at Quodlings' he had found a "permanency, " and hisdecision to go no more to Dulwich, to sell all his bow-wows, to findanother employment for leisure hours. 

But he was not wholly at ease. Time after time he had purposed making aconfession to Mrs. Clover, time after time he "funked it"--his ownmental phrase--and put it off. 

He grew discontented with his room at Mrs. Bubb's. In getting up thesebright mornings he looked with entirely new distaste upon the prospectfrom his window at the back. Beneath lay parallel strips of ground, divided from each other by low walls. These were called the "gardens"of the houses in Kennington Road, but no blade of grass ever showedupon the black, hard-trodden soil. Lank fowls ran about among discardedfurniture and indescribable rubbish, or children--few as well-tended asMrs. Bubb's--played and squabbled under the dropping soot. Beyond rosea huge block of tenements, each story entered from an externalplatform, the levels connected by flights of iron steps; the loftyroof, used as a drying ground by the female population, was surroundedwith iron railings. Gammon had hitherto seen nothing disagreeable inthis outlook, nor had the shrieks and curses which at night toofrequently sounded from the huge building ever troubled his repose. Buthe was growing fastidious. He thought constantly of a clean littlestreet not far from Battersea Park--of a gleaming china shop--of alittle parlour which seemed to him the perfection of comfort andelegance. 

Courage and opportunity came together. He sat alone with Mrs. Cloverone Sunday evening, and she told him that Minnie was to be married insix months' time. Gammon bore the announcement very well indeed; heseemed really glad to hear it. Then his countenance became troubled, hedropped awkward sentences; with a burst of honest feeling, which madehim very red, he at length plunged into his confession. Not a littleastonished, Mrs. Clover learnt all that had passed between him andPolly Sparkes, now Polly Parish. Nothing did he extenuate, but hewronged neither Polly nor himself. 

"There, I've got it out. You had to know. Thank goodness it's over!"

"Why did you tell me?" asked Mrs. Clover, a flush on her comely face, which could not yet smile, though she asked the question with asuggestion of slyness. 

"It seemed only right--to make things square--don't you see. I shallknow next time I come how you've taken it. And perhaps the next timeafter that--"

Mrs. Clover was now smiling, and so gently, so modestly, that Gammonforgot all about his scheme for a gradual approach. He began to talkexcitedly, and talked for such a long time that his hostess, who wishedhim to disappear before Minnie's return, had at length to drive himaway. 

"I shall certainly keep on the shop, " were her last words before thedoor opened. "I've got used to it, and--it'll keep me out of mischief. "

Her merry little laugh echoed in Gammon's ears all the way home, andfor hours after. And when, as he rose next morning, he looked out on tothe strips of back-yard and the towering tenements, they had lost alltheir ugliness. 

"By jorrocks!" he ejaculated, after gashing his chin with the razor, "I'll send Polly a handsome present next Christmas. "