CHAPTER XVII
POLLY SHOWS WEAKNESS
It was spoken with quiet confidence. Gammon smiled as he looked steadily into the pale, thin face, which at once grew mottled with a disturbance of the blood.
"You are making a mistake, sir," replied an indistinct voice, with an effort at dignity.
"Oh, no, not a bit of it. Not now I've heard you speak, Mr. Clover."
"I don't understand you, sir," sounded more clearly, the pallid visage now a muddy red and the eyes moist. "That is not my name. Be so good as to go your way."
"Certainly. I just wanted to make sure, that's all. No fuss. Good morning, Mr. Clover."
Gammon drew back. He heard the order "Charing Cross," and the cab drew away.
After a moment or two of irresolution Gammon walked hurriedly back to the nearest public-house, where he called for a glass of bitter and the Directory. With the former he slaked a decided dryness of the throat, the latter he searched eagerly in the section "Court." There it was! "Polperro, Lord, 16, Lowndes Mansions, Sloane Street, S.W. Junior Ramblers' Club. Trefoyle, Liskeard, Cornwall."
By jorrocks!