And in the afternoon he would find that he had need of toilet soap, or a bottle of hair-oil, and he would repair to Mr. Tridge’s establishment to procure such article, making the matter of purchase as protracted a business as possible. And then he would saunter down to the ferry and, alleging that sea air was good for him, be taken several consecutive journeys across the river under the impulse of Mr. Clark’s sculls.
And in the evening he would visit the “Flag and Pennant” inn, or such other tavern as might be extending its hospitality to Mr. Tridge or Mr. Clark, and here he would laboriously contrive desultory conversation with one or other of them until doors had to be closed, when his way would strangely coincide with the homeward path of that gentleman of the twain in whose society closing-time had found him.
But never a word was there spoken of an idol of any sort. Twice or thrice Mr. Sinnett had broached Imperialism as a topic of conversation, being thus enabled to allude to India in a natural, unforced way. But mention of that empire had instantly caused both Mr. Tridge and Mr. Clark to look suspicious and markedly avoid any development of the subject, so that Mr. Sinnett had to travel warily back, by way of Canada and Australia and New Zealand, to shallower waters.
And, for their part, Mr. Tridge and Mr. Clark bore the partiality of Mr. Sinnett for their society with nothing but a nice air of gratitude for patronage. Not once did either of them make allusion to that recent evening when they had shown him something of the inner side of their confidence. And Mr. Sinnett was glad that this should be so, for clearly, he argued, it showed that the conversations had had no abiding place in their memories. Wherefore, then, he cultivated their company, waiting for a chance word to swell the bulk of his secret information and give him assistance in turning this knowledge to his own profit.
“Ever seen a cat waiting outside a mouse-’ole? That’s ’im!” Mr. Clark privately reported to Mr. Horace Dobb.
“A bit of waiting don’t do no ’arm,” said Mr. Dobb, sagaciously. “The more time ’e spends the less ’e’ll like to think that it might ’ave been wasted.”
So that it was not till one evening in the middle of the following week that Mr. Sinnett was thrilled by a further unwinding of the spool of adventure.
On that night, neither Mr. Clark nor Mr. Tridge were to be discovered in accustomed haunts, and Mr. Sinnett, fearful of this coincidence, went from hostelry to hostelry in feverish search. Returning to the “Royal William Hotel” for a second time, he again questioned the billiard-marker.
“No, Mr. Tridge ain’t been in here yet, sir,” Mr. Lock replied. “In fact, I was just wondering whether you’d come across him anywhere. There’s been some one inquiring very eager after him since you was here a hour ago.”
“Who was it—that ferryman?”