When Trigger was alone with his master in the workroom, he could not help expressing his indignation at the “conceited snob,” who had never even thanked Mr Goodall for his services.
“I only wish,” Tom said, “we had him here, and if I wouldn’t pitch into him for his cowardly behaviour, may I never ascend with you again, sir!”
“I admire your pluck, Trigger, but you forget that he may have been here to take note of my movements. You did not notice, perhaps, that he was the spy, the shadow man, who accompanied the young lady whom I saw in the palace to-day. In the excitement of the moment, I did not at first identify the party, but I can very well understand the fellow’s feelings towards me; besides, I am sure that he is no friend to me. Mind that you do not, for the present, mention what has happened to Miss Chain or to Lucy. When I have changed my clothes, I’ll come back and look up the policeman to find out how the lady is. Remember, not a word, Trigger.”
“All right, sir; I’m as good as if I were under sealed orders, and I am not the man to break faith.”
Presently the policeman knocked at the door and informed Mr Goodall that the lady was getting on nicely, and that the gentleman had gone up to the Palace Club room to meet the lady’s father, and to inform him of what had taken place. A carriage was then ordered to take the trio to catch a train that was going south, but neither the lady nor the gentleman mentioned where they were going to, or whence they came.
After hearing these particulars, Mr Goodall, who seemed to know the man’s face, asked him his name.
“My name, sir, is Warner.”
“Ah! I recollect you now perfectly. What is your Christian name?”
“Unfortunately, it is Simon, sir; but I do not belong to the detective department, though I am as sharp, perhaps, as some of them that do.”
“I daresay, and I’ll get you to keep an eye on my workroom if you will.”