Chapter Three.
Two Paces to the Rear.
After plunging as we did head first into the great trouble of Sir Richard Frayne’s life, I must ask my readers to let me go back, in military parlance, “two paces to the rear,” so as to enter into a few explanations as to the position of the cousins, promising that the interpolation shall be neither tedious nor long.
Only a short time before Richard Frayne struck that unlucky blow, general-valet Jerry entered the room with—
“Here you are, Sir Richard, two pairs; and your shoes is getting thin in the sole.”
“Then I must have a new pair, Jerry.”
“Why don’t you have ’arf dozen pairs in on account, sir, like Mr Mark do?”
“Look here, Jerry, if you worry me now, I shall throw something at you.”
Jeremiah Brigley, who had just put down two pairs of newly-polished shoes, rubbed his nose meditatively with the cuff of his striped morning jacket, and then tapped an itching place on his head with the clothes-brush he held in his hand, as he stared down at the owner of the shoes—a good-looking, fair, intent lad of nearly eighteen, busy over a contrivance which rested upon a pile of mathematical and military books on the table of the well-furnished room overlooking the Cathedral Close of Primchilsea busy city.