When the great man came home to his palatial residence that bloodhound would watch him enter, and then in the guise of a porter or a policeman, drop into his kitchen and chatter with his servants. If Mr. Howard Murpoint walked the room all night the bloodhound learned it from the chambermaid.
Every scrap of paper which fell into his waste-paper basket found its way into the hands of Mr. Dockett, and Mr. Howard Murpoint never gave a party or attended one without Mr. Dockett's knowing it, and sometimes being present.
Gentle, noble-hearted Violet came in for a portion of this lynx-bloodhound's consideration.
Often when he was leaning against the rail of the Row, exquisitely dressed, and the Mildmay carriage passed him with its claret liveries and high-stepping horses, with Mrs. Mildmay, Violet and Howard Murpoint inside, Mr. Dockett would slightly scratch his head and mutter:
"I can't make that young lady out! What on earth made her promise to marry him? I'm sure she was in love with that unlucky young gentleman with the false beard. Perhaps she's got a wrong idea of duty; and there's no doubt that Mr. H. M. is a wonderful, smooth-tongued gentleman!"
Then he'd leave the Row and return to his watch on the Murpoint mansion and in quite another costume gather all he could from the servants and tradespeople. But what he learned was not much in itself.
Howard Murpoint was no foolhardy villain.
All he did was done with circumspection and care, and he baffled Mr. Dockett. That gentleman ran down with his usual suddenness to Penruddie.
He went to Sanderson's cottage, and found Jamie, the lame boy, seated at the door with a book in his hand, with his large, melancholy eyes fixed upon the sea.
"Well, my lad," said Mr. Dockett, stealing upon him quietly. "How are you?"