“No, I never supposed you would,” said Barnes, in a tone of resignation.
Michael hesitated whether to speak to him about Mrs. Smith or not: however, probably he was aware of her existence already, and it could do no harm to mention it.
“Did you know that there was a woman living down in the basement here?” he asked.
“I didn’t know there was one here; but it’s not a very rare occurrence in this part of London, nor any other part of London, if it comes to that.”
“If you hear any row going on down there,” said Michael, “you had better interfere at once.”
“Who with?” Barnes inquired indignantly.
“With the row,” said Michael. “If the woman is being badly treated on account of money she owes, you must let me know immediately.”
“Well, I’m not in the old tear’s secret, am I?” asked Barnes, in an injured tone. “You can’t expect me to go routing about after every old fly-by-night stuck in a basement.”
“I’m particularly anxious to know that she is all right,” Michael insisted.
“Oh well, of course, if she’s a friend of yours, Fane, that’s another matter. If it’s any little thing to oblige you, why certainly I’ll do it.”