"Not yet, ma'am; but I mean to know more."
"Watch then," she cried; "watch those two men. There is danger for Mr. Dale in any association with his cousin, Sir Reginald Eversleigh. Do not forget that. There is peril for him—the deadliest it may be. Watch them, Mr. Larkspur; watch them by day and night."
"I'll do my duty, ma'am, depend upon it," replied the police officer; "and I'll do it well. I take a pride in my profession, and to me duty is a pleasure."
"I will trust you."
"You may, ma'am. Oh, by-the-bye, I must tell you that in this house my name is Andrews. Please remember that, ma'am."
"Mr. Andrews, lawyer's clerk. The name of Larkspur smells too strong of
Bow Street."
* * * * *
The information acquired by Andrew Larkspur was perfectly correct. An intimacy and companionship had arisen between Douglas Dale and his cousin, Reginald Eversleigh, and the two men spent much of their time together.
Douglas Dale was still the same simple-minded, true-hearted young man that he had been before his uncle Oswald's death endowed him with an income of five thousand a year; but with the accession of wealth the necessity for industry ceased; and instead of a hard-working student, Douglas became one of the upper million, who have nothing to think of but the humour of the moment—now Alpine tourist, now Norwegian angler; anon idler in clubs and drawing-rooms; anon book collector, or amateur litterateur.
He still occupied chambers in the Temple; he still called himself a barrister; but he had no longer any desire to succeed at the bar.