"But it is nearly eleven o'clock!" glancing at the Sèvres timepiece opposite him, "and I have already trespassed too long on Lady Perivale's patience. And I have to catch a train for Putney, where I live when I am at home. I haven't seen my wife for ten days, and I shall start for Marseilles at nine o'clock to-morrow morning."
"You are not often at home, I suppose?"
"No, madam. A good deal of my life is spent like Satan's, 'Going to and fro in the earth, and walking up and down in it;' and then I have my pied à terre in Essex Street, where I am generally to be found for business purposes when I am in London. I used to live in Bloomsbury, where I was always on the spot, ready for contingencies; but when I left the Force some years ago, I took a cottage at Putney—a pretty little place enough—where my wife lives, and where I go when I have a little leisure, and where I am supposed to be very fond of the garden."
"And don't you love your garden? It must be such a relief after your exciting work."
"Oh yes, I like the garden. I find the slugs particularly interesting."
"The slugs!"
"Oh, there's more in a slug than most people think. His capacity has been very much under-rated. Of course he's not a patch upon the spider. The subtle villainy of the spider is worth a life-long study. I know nothing but a sixty per cent. money-lender that can touch him. And the ant—well, he's a thorough-going Philistine, always moves in a grove, and doesn't so much appeal to my fancy. But again, I am encroaching," said Faunce, standing up straight and stiff, in an attitude reminiscent of "the Force." "I wish you good night, ladies, and I hope your ladyship will pardon me for having prosed all this time."
"I am greatly obliged to you for having given us so much interesting information."
"And some day you will tell us one of your blood-curdling stories?" said Susan Rodney, shaking hands with him.
"I like that man!" exclaimed Susan, when the door closed upon him. "I have always wanted to know a detective, like Bucket, the beloved of my childhood; or Mr. Cuff, the idol of my riper years. You must invite Mr. Faunce to a quiet little luncheon some day. There is no question of class distinction with a clever man like that."