"Not the least in the world, further than it's somewhere Hampstead way. That's a thing he evidently don't want known."
"Do you think it likely that he and that young lady live in the same house? I need not disguise from you that I am come after her, to endeavour to get her back to her family."
"I know they don't live in the same house," said Trotter, "because I heard her say, to-night, before she went away, 'Do look round, George,' she says, 'at my house, for ten minutes, before you go home.'"
"You have done me a great kindness," said the Major, "in what you have told me. I don't know how to thank you."
"It's only one," said the prize-fighter, "in return for a many you done me; and you are welcome to it, sir. Now, I expect you'd like to see this young gent; so follow me, if you please."
Through many passages, past many doors, he followed him, until they left the noise of the revelry behind, and at last, at the end of a long dark passage, the prizefighter suddenly threw open a door, and announced—"Major Buckley!"
There were four men playing at cards, and the one opposite to him was George Hawker. The Major saw at a glance, almost before anyone had time to speak, that George was losing money, and that the other three were confederates.
The prize-fighter went up to the table and seized the cards; then, after a momentary examination, threw both packs in the fire.
"When gents play cards in my house, I expect them to use the cards I provides at the bar, and not private packs, whether marked or not. Mr. Hawker, I warned you before about this; you'll lose every sixpence you're worth, and then you will say it was done at my house, quite forgetting to mention that I warned you of it repeatedly."
But George took no notice of him. "Really, Major Buckley," he began, "this is rather—"