"Yes, sir," he said, as coolly as if Jasper had told him to go to bed again.
"I want you to go down there and keep a look-out for me. A gentleman has just driven there, an old man, rather bent, with long white hair. Understand?"
"Yes," was the quiet reply.
"He will probably go out the first thing, quite early. I want to know where he goes."
"Only the first place he goes to?" was the question.
Jasper hesitated.
"Suppose you keep an eye upon him generally till, say one o'clock, then come back to me. I want to know his movements, you understand, Scrivell!"
"I understand, sir," was the answer. "Any name?"
Jasper hesitated a moment, and a faint color came into his face. Somehow he was conscious of a strange reluctance to mention the name—her name; but he overcame it.
"Yes, Etheridge," he said, quietly, "but that doesn't matter. Don't make any inquiries at the hotel or elsewhere, if you can help it."