Pye smiled. "No; I'm not," he said, "and please don't remind me of it"; at which we all laughed and grew friendly again. "Well, this is a funny sort of tea for me," said the clerk presently. "I generally patronise the A.B.C.," and he rose to go.
Holgate did not move, but sat staring at the fire, which shone on his broad placid face. "I knew a man once," he observed, "who kept his own counsel."
"I hope he was a lawyer," said Pye humourously.
"No; he was a steward—the steward of an estate in the North. In the hills was the wealth of a millionaire; coal, doctor," Holgate looked at me. "And he kept his counsel and held his tongue."
"With what object?" I asked.
"Oh, a little syndicate succeeded in buying it from the owner, and now it's a seven-figure affair."
His face had no expression of inquiry or of inviting comment. He had simply stated history, but I was moved to say flippantly,
"What luck!"
"The steward got it?" asked Pye.
"He romped in," said the third officer.