“We laid low,” interrupted the man.
“That may be, but if you’ve come to tell me the interesting story of your life, Ginger, I beg that you will cut it short—the history, I mean, not necessarily your life.”
“Well, I’ll tell it to you as quickly as possible,” said the man. “I don’t always work with Brown. In fact, I’ve only worked with him about three times before. I’m not as good a man with the broads——”
“The broads?” said the puzzled Timothy.
“With the cards,” corrected the man. “I say that I’m not as good a man with the broads as some of the others. I’ve got a bit of a reputation for scrapping. I’ve never left a pal in the lurch and I’ve always been ready for any ‘rough house’ that came along. About two months ago Brown sent for me—he’s got a flat off Piccadilly and lives like a lord. He told me he was going to Madeira on a special job, that he’d been employed by a lady in Paris—a Madame Serpilot (you’d better write that down in your pocket-book)—to shepherd a young lady who was coming over. Mind you, there was no harm intended to the young lady, but the general idea was that she might be accompanied by a man, and he was the fellow who had to be looked after.”
“What was the lady’s name?” asked Timothy quickly.
“Miss Maxell,” said the man without hesitation, “and you were the fellow we were asked to put out of business. Brown’s idea was to break you; then, when you got to London, one of his pals would have met you and offered to lend you money. They’d have framed up a charge against you of obtaining money by false pretences, and you would have been pinched.”
Timothy’s eyebrows rose.
“Was this Mrs. Serpilot’s plan?” he asked, but the man shook his head.
“No, sir, she gave just the details to Brown. She never said what was to be done to you, according to him, but you were to be stopped going around with the young lady.”