"Bycliffe was not open to you about his other affairs?"
"Oh, no—a fellow you wouldn't dare to ask a question of. People told him everything, but he told nothing in return. If Madame Annette ever found him again, she found her lord and master with a vengeance; but she was a regular lapdog. However, her family shut her up—made a prisoner of her—to prevent her running away."
"Ah—good. Much of what you have been so obliging as to say is irrelevant to any possible purpose of mine, which, in fact, has only to do with a mouldy law-case that might be aired some day. You will doubtless, on your own account, maintain perfect silence on what has passed between us, and with that condition duly preserved—a—it is possible that—a—the lottery you have put into—as you observe—may turn up a prize."
"This, then, is all the business you have with me?" said Christian, rising.
"All. You will, of course, preserve carefully all the papers and other articles which have so many—a—recollections—a—attached to them?"
"Oh, yes. If there's any chance of Bycliffe turning up again, I shall be sorry to have parted with the snuff-box; but I was hard-up at Naples. In fact, as you see, I was obliged at last to turn courier."
"An exceedingly agreeable life for a man of some—a—accomplishments and—a—no income," said Jermyn, rising, and reaching a candle, which he placed against his desk.
Christian knew this was a sign that he was expected to go, but he lingered standing, with one hand on the back of his chair. At last, he said rather sulkily—
"I think you're too clever, Mr. Jermyn, not to perceive that I'm not a man to be made a fool of."
"Well—a—it may perhaps be a still better guarantee for you," said Jermyn, smiling, "that I see no use in attempting that—a—metamorphosis."