"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 organiser, 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."
"Very well. It's of great use to me. I have a wife to keep."
"I haven't," said Denzil, with a sickly smile, "so perhaps I can manage on it after all." He took his hat and the sovereign.