“I think not,” said Bramleigh tersely. “But I know a man who could. Just left him.”
“Who’s your friend, Bramleigh?”
Lord Bramleigh would not be drawn. “Oh—man you wouldn’t know. Not your sort. But the lady knows him.”
“Couldn’t you give him a hint?”
“I could,” said Bramleigh with deliberation. “I could, but”—he looked up at his tall friend—“but if I did, I shouldn’t leave you out, old chap.”
Lord Gunner halted and faced him. “You may say what you please about me. I don’t care what you say.” He looked over to Bond-street. “That’s my road,” he said.
“The way to Hill-street?” asked Bramleigh.
“The way to Hill-street,” he was told.
Lord Bramleigh remained upon the Piccadilly pavement for some minutes, lost in what must be described as thought. His lips were framed for whistling, but no sound came. His eyes stared at nothing in particular. Then he was heard to say, “I’ll do it, by Gad,” and seen to turn on his heel. He walked down the hill again, the way he had come up.