"Your style, my dear Mr. Cantercot. The unique noble style."
"Yes, I was afraid it would betray me," said Denzil. "And since you know, I may tell you that Grodman's a mean curmudgeon. What does he want with all that money and those houses—a man with no sense of the Beautiful? He'd have taken my information, and given me more kicks than ha'pence for it, so to speak."
"Yes, he is a shrewd man after all. I don't see anything valuable in your evidence against Mortlake."
"No!" said Denzil in a disappointed tone, and fearing he was going to be robbed. "Not when Mortlake was already jealous of Mr. Constant, who was a sort of rival organizer, unpaid! A kind of blackleg doing the work cheaper—nay, for nothing."
"Did Mortlake tell you he was jealous?" said Wimp, a shade of sarcastic contempt piercing through his tones.
"Oh, yes! He said to me, 'That man will work mischief. I don't like your kid-glove philanthropists meddling in matters they don't understand.'"
"Those were his very words?"
"His ipsissima verba."
"Very well. I have your address in my files. Here is a sovereign for you."
"Only one sovereign! It's not the least use to me."