Gammon mused, and it occurred to him in his knowledge of the world that Greenacre's connexion with the house of Bolsover might be that of a begging-letter writer. There might have been some slight acquaintance in years gone by between this strange fellow and young Lord Bolsover—subsequently made a source of profit. Perchance, Greenacre's prosperity at this moment resulted from a skilful appeal to the widowed lady.
Inclined to facetiousness by a blend of choice beverages, Gammon could not resist a joke at the moment when he took leave.
"Been out with the 'Saponaria' van to-day?" he enquired innocently.
Greenacre looked steadily at him with eyes of gentle reproach.
"I'm afraid I don't understand that allusion," he replied gravely. "Is it a current jest? I am not much in the way of hearing that kind of thing. By the by, let me know if I can help you in any more genealogies."
"I will. So long, old man."
And with a wink—an undeniable wink, an audacious wink—Mr. Gammon sallied from the hotel.
Before going to bed he wrote a letter—a letter to Miss Sparkes. Would she see him the day after to-morrow, Sunday, if he strolled along Shaftesbury Avenue at ten a.m.? It would greatly delight him, and perhaps she might be persuaded to take a little jaunt to Dulwich and look at his bow-wows.