“’As she—’as she married ’im, after all?” queried Mr. Clark, in a surprised tone that was not entirely devoid of approval.
“She ’as! She’s been meetin’ ’im regular the last few days, it seems, and—”
“Married that ’ere Jones, and I never so much as set eyes on ’im!” marvelled Mr. Clark. “There’s artfulness!”
Mr. Poskett, gasping for words, shook his head helplessly.
“It was Mr. Lupcott, of the ‘Flag and Pennant,’ she married, Sam,” said Mr. Dobb, softly.
“Ah, ’e told me this morning that ’e was going away for a few days, and ’e clapped me on the shoulder and laughed, and I wondered why!” cried Mr. Clark. “But—but that ’ere Jones—”
“There never was any Jones, Sam,” explained Mr. Dobb, in gentle accents. “Lupcott invented ’im simply to keep you fixed in one spot, so ’e could go on meeting Miss Poskett. Matter of fact, I invented ’im for Lupcott! It was Lupcott ’oo was after ’er all along, as I knew.”
“But—but—”
Mr. Dobb nodded significantly towards Mr. Poskett.
“Look ’ere!” readily cried Mr. Clark, advancing on that gentleman threateningly. “This ’ere slipway is private property, and I’m in charge of it. And I don’t want you ’anging about ’ere listening to gentlemen’s conversation! I don’t like the looks of you, me man. I never did, and I never shall, so clear out!”