At the Inquiry he asked whether there was a telegram for Gadget, and was not surprised to hear that there was none; indeed, he had only that moment made up the name. But such is the spell of association over even the sharpest crook that he could not help saying, “John K. Gadget”; so much was the famous name of John K. Petre now branded upon his brain.
He sauntered back again to his chair, sank down, and took up speech again with his companion.
The young man himself was tall, just an inch or two overdressed, with black hair, greased, brushed back over a high narrow forehead and thin face, of the bony sort, which is also called “distinguished,” the long narrow chin and the high narrow forehead were each a long way from the advanced cape of the squeezed nose. He made delicate gestures with his right hand. He spoke leisurely and high.
His companion was of no such exalted station. He was squat, round-headed, double-chinned, with a thick, frowsy, gray mustache; short, ill-combed hair; and dressed in clothes so loose and creased that they disgraced that cavern of the rich. His boots were shameful, and even his collar was dubious.
“Well, Arthur?” said he to the young man.
“Well, Batterby, he’s come here.”
“Oh, he has, has he? I told you so!” said Batterby, not without pride.
“Yep,” answered the more elegant Arthur. “There’s the name right enough. John K. Petre. But you know what I told you. He makes it a point to keep low and dark. I’d use it—but I wouldn’t print it. I’ve heard what he does when he’s given away. Oh! He’s savage! The clerks are paid in all these places to keep it quiet whenever he does come over. Once they did get hold of him in the Howl, when he came over four years ago, and they printed a story about him. Then they found he controlled half the poison ads.: Rodney’s Cure, and the Pain-killer and Voler’s Pills—and he made ’em print a denial too, displayed. And then he broke ’em! Oh! he’s savage.”
“It was I tracked him to that boat on my own risk,” said Batterby doggedly. “I paid the clerk at this end out of my own pocket, and he said John K. would be on it, as sure as one can be of him. He’d booked as Carroll, so’s not to be pestered on board. If I liked to take the trouble I could find out that he’d landed and what train he took. It’s a cruel shame if I can’t make a story for the Messenger out of it! His Grace’ll want it too,” he added plaintively. “It’s for him to print or not as he likes. He knows his way about, does the Duke.”
Arthur shrugged his shoulders. “You can tell your gang if you like, Batterby, but it’s at your own risk. He’ll ferret you out and he’ll never let go of you. He bites to the bone: specially newspaper men. That’s what he hates most. You know what he is. If they print they’ll get hell, and even if they only talk you’ll get hell. I’ve told you all I know about him. He comes to London, Paris, Naples, anywhere. Nobody to know when he passed, except his men. And what’s more, he’ll get plenty of people to swear to his being somewhere else. If he makes a row, it isn’t my fault. At any rate, he’s here.... I’ve got to be off. Will you wait while I get my hat and coat?”