"No, I am not aware of his connection with any illegal institutions," replied Laurence coldly. "I may as well mention that my father is a gentleman and a magistrate."
"Quite so. I ascertained that such was the case before I left London—reference books, you know. I should have discovered by this time, though, that he was a gentleman by your boots."
"My boots!"
"Exactly. I can always tell a gentleman by his boots and a lady by her fingers—rings, you know. If you are a gentleman presumably your father is also."
It was Laurence's turn to smile. He perceived that Mr. Potter was trying to impress him, but he was not impressed in the least.
"You're going to treat this case too lightly," he said; "it's something out of the common. There are none of your cheap-fictional secret societies in this mystery. There's something much deeper in it than that. A plot it is, and a well-laid one, too, that will take even you a fair amount of skill to bring to light."
There was a marked emphasis on the word "you" that did not escape Mr. Oliver Potter's notice.
"Then you think we can, in your father's case, exclude any idea of a secret connection with some society, such as that I refer to? Take that useful word 'jar,' then, and remove the centre letter."
"Really, Mr. Potter, I fail to understand you. Is this professional jargon necessary? Personally, I am a plain-spoken person." Laurence had taken an almost immediate dislike to the man from Burton's, whom he perceived to be as full of the sense of his own importance as the proverbial egg is full of meat.
The imperturbable detective, however, seemed accustomed to what he no doubt considered the amateur jealousy of his employers, and merely explained that he was forgetting Laurence's presence.