"No, Colonel, no; no, no; I'm no spy. I wouldn't demean myself to be such. A spy is a man as has no profession, and nothing to justify his looking into things. Things must be looked into, Colonel; or how's a man to know where he is? or how's a lady to know where she is? But as for spies, except in the way of evidence, I don't think nothing of 'em." Soon after this two more passengers entered the train, and nothing more was said between Bozzle and the Colonel.
The Colonel, as soon as he reached London, went home to his lodgings, and then to his club, and did his best to enjoy himself. On the following Monday he intended to start for Scotland. But he could not quite enjoy himself,—because of Bozzle. He felt that he was being watched; and there is nothing that any man hates so much as that, especially when a lady is concerned. Colonel Osborne knew that his visit to Nuncombe Putney had been very innocent; but he did not like the feeling that even his innocence had been made the subject of observation.
Bozzle went away at once to Trevelyan, whom he found at his chambers. He himself had had no very deep-laid scheme in his addresses to Colonel Osborne. He had begun to think that very little would come of the affair,—especially after Hugh Stanbury had appeared upon the scene,—and had felt that there was nothing to be lost by presenting himself before the eyes of the Colonel. It was necessary that he should make a report to his employer, and the report might be made a little more full after a few words with the man whom he had been "looking into." "Well, Mr. Trewillian," he said, seating himself on a chair close against the wall, and holding his hat between the knees,—"I've seen the parties, and know pretty much all about it."
"All I want to know, Mr. Bozzle, is, whether Colonel Osborne has been at the Clock House?"
"He has been there, Mr. Trewillian. There is no earthly doubt about that. From hour to hour I can tell you pretty nearly where he's been since he left London." Then Bozzle took out his memorandum-book.
"I don't care about all that," said Trevelyan.
"I dare say not, sir; but it may be wanted all the same. Any gentleman acting in our way can't be too particular,—can't have too many facts. The smallest little,—tiddly things,"—and Bozzle as he said this seemed to enjoy immensely the flavour of his own epithet,—"the smallest little 'tiddly' things do so often turn up trumps when you get your evidence into court."
"I'm not going to get any evidence into court."
"Maybe not, sir. A gentleman and lady is always best out of court as long as things can hang on any way;—but sometimes things won't hang on no way."
Trevelyan, who was conscious that the employment of Bozzle was discreditable, and whose affairs in Devonshire were now in the hands of, at any rate, a more honourable ally, was at present mainly anxious to get rid of the ex-policeman. "I have no doubt you've been very careful, Mr. Bozzle," said he.