“Any specific method?” Jacob enquired.
“When I declined to join the enterprise, they dried up. All the same they mean mischief,” Felixstowe declared emphatically.
“But why should you think that they can hurt me?”
“Because you are on the straight and they are on the cross,” was the well-considered reply. “If three men of their brains mean mischief, well, they’re worth watching. They know the dirty ways and you don’t. The old game, you know—a feint in the front and a stab in the back. Keep your weather eye open, Jacob. Beware of them, whether they bring gifts or thunderbolts.”
“Anyway, it’s very friendly of you to come and warn me,” Jacob said gratefully.
“Not at all, old bean. I say, when are you going to get me a job?”
“What sort of a job do you want?”
“Your private secretary, couple of thou a year, and one of these cadaverous, ink-smudged chaps to do the work. What-ho!”
“You’re modest!”
“That’s what the governor says. He was on to me about you yesterday. Coming the man-of-the-world stunt, you know. Hand on my shoulder with a fatherly grip. ‘Jack,’ he said solemnly, ‘there’s one golden rule which people in our position must never forget. Make use of your friends.’”