Old Dibble laughed, and said Paul was a regular good un; and from this the porter was easily led on to repeat little things which he occasionally saw and heard in Mr. Richard Tallant’s room.
Whilst they were talking, a brougham pulled up to the edge of the pavement, and Paul saw that it was occupied by the Hon. Lionel Hammerton.
“Let us wait here a few moments, Dib; I think I know that gentleman,” said Paul, detaining his friend.
A smart footman leaped from the box, opened the carriage door, and out stepped Mr. Hammerton, who immediately disappeared up a flight of steps which led into a dingy but rather ostentatious building.
“Dib, old boy, we must see what place this is.”
“This?” said Dibble; “why it be the Ashford Club. I know Mister Fencer, who takes care of the rooms; Mrs. Fencer be quite a crony of Mrs. Dibble’s.”
“The Ashford Club, eh? I should like to have a peep at the place inside, Dib.”
“Well, that be easy enough, I s’pose. Let us call and ask Mr. Fencer how he be.”
They went up the flight of stone steps, and found Mr. Fencer, who patronised Mr. Dibble in majestic style.
Fencer was a fussy, pompous person, as was also Mrs. Fencer, who was absent this evening; being, in fact, on a visit to Mrs. Dibble. Fencer, therefore, was fussier and more pompous than usual, and he took Mr. Somerton and Dibble into his little room and treated them to hot gin-and-water, ad libitum.