He had the great drawing room and picture gallery to himself and was scanning every corner of it when a voice punctuated the silence.
“Ah, Mr. Gladwin!”
The young man turned quickly and saw what he at first mistook for a uniformed constable emerge from the portières that screened the window.
“Well, if it isn’t”––he began in gaping surprise.
“Murphy, sorr, only a tighter fit.” Wilson stepped through the curtains twirling his club.
“So you are 666 now, eh?” Gladwin blurted. “And Phelan”–––
“The gentleman who belongs in this tight-fitting frock? Oh, he’s still about.”
“And you managed to bribe him?”
“Not exactly that, Mr. Gladwin––say I persuaded him.”