Heckett interpreted its meaning in a moment.
‘Gertie,’ he said, gruffly, ‘get out and have a blow. I shall be at home for an hour.’
Gertie put on her little hat and went out for a ‘blow,’ though what sort of a blow, except one on the head, is obtainable in Drury Lane it is difficult to conjecture.
She guessed her grandfather wanted to get rid of her while he talked to the gentleman, and so she took the hint at once.
‘Now then, governor,’ said Heckett, making himself comfortable on a rabbit-hutch, and kicking the foxhound and the spaniel out of the way, ‘perhaps you’ll give us the straight tip about this here affair. Who’s the donner?’
‘The lady,’ replied Marston, with a meaning emphasis on the word, ‘is a friend of mine; that’s enough for you. I knew her when I was a very different man to what I am now.’
‘I see—old pals—sweetheart, eh?’
‘Never you mind what we were,’ answered Marston, gruffly; ‘we didn’t come here to talk about sweethearts. What about this business?’
‘Well, if you think this is the best place to meet, I don’t mind. How many will there be on the job?’
‘The fewer the better,’ answered Marston; ‘but I don’t see we can do with less than five. There’ll be you and myself, Seth Preene, and Turvey the guard, and Brooks.’