“Let me see, where did you say that young man was employed?” inquired Mr. Lane, when at length Mr. Tridge simultaneously ceased his political remarks and his tonsorial services.
“What young man, sir?”
“Mr.—er—Mr. Pash’s great-nephew.”
“Oh, along at the ‘Royal William Hotel,’ sir,” said Mr. Tridge, turning aside to conceal a satisfied smile.
It was in the slack hour after tea that same day that the billiard-room of the “Royal William” was honoured by a first visit from Mr. Thomas Lane. He entered coyly, seating himself just inside the door in the most unobtrusive manner. Mr. Lock, idly testing his skill at the table, accorded the visitor a courteous greeting.
“No, I don’t want to play, thanks,” replied Mr. Lane. “I—I only just looked in, that’s all.”
“Quite so, sir,” agreed Mr. Lock.
Mr. Lane offered no further explanation of his presence, and Mr. Lock walked round the table a few times in leisurely pursuit of that perfection which comes to practice. The visitor, watching Mr. Lock’s activity through narrowed eyelids, patiently awaited opportunity, and this Mr. Lock presently offered him.
“Very good table, this, sir,” he observed, casually. “Good as any you’ll find in the town.”
“Dare say,” returned Mr. Lane, absently.