“Isaac, sir? Denville’s Isaac?”
“Yes, him. Dropped any more hints?”
“Saw him last night, sir, at the Blue Posts.”
“Well?”
“Went on dropping hints again, sir, as soon as he had had a glass or two. ’Fraid he’s a fool, sir.”
“Nothing to be afraid of in a fool, Joseph, so long as you keep him at a distance. So he chatters, eh?”
“Yes, sir. Professes to have a mystery. He could speak if he liked, and there’s a deal he could say if he pleased, and lays his finger on the side of his nose, and all that sort of thing, sir. That’s been going on for months, and it’s what he calls confiding in me; but it never goes any further.”
“And what do you think of it, Joseph?”
“Nothing, sir,” said Barclay’s confidential man drily. “I believe it’s all to make him seem important. Lived a long while in an artificial soil, sir, and goes in for shams.”
Barclay chuckled.