"Who can't see at all," interpolated Paul, dryly.
"Ha! ha! that's good. But I say about this Hay. What a queer lot he had there to-night."
"I can't discuss that," said Paul, stiffly. He was not one to eat a man's bread and salt and then betray him.
Sandal went on as though he hadn't heard him. "That actress is a jolly little woman," said he. "I've seen her at the Frivolity—a ripping fine singer and dancer she is. But those other ladies?"
"Mrs. and Miss Krill."
The young lord stopped short in the High Street. "Where have I heard that name?" he said, looking up to the stars; "somewhere—in the country maybe. I go down sometimes to the Hall—my father's place. I don't suppose you'd know it. It's three miles from Christchurch."
"In Hants," said Paul, feeling he was on the verge of a discovery.
"Yes. Have you been there?"
"No. But I have heard of the place. There's an hotel there called 'The Red Pig,' which I thought—"
"Ha!" cried young Sandal, stopping again, and with such a shout that passers-by thought he was drunk. "I remember the name. 'The Red Pig'; a woman called Krill kept that."