“Certainly not. He’s a jolly dog, whom to know is to like. Eh, Briny? Miss Stratton, let me introduce my brother-in-law to you. This is Mr. Twiley.”
“Yes, I have already heard of you, Mr. Twiley, and am pleased to make your acquaintance.”
So said the young lady upon whom the sergeant-major’s eyes were fixed with unaffected admiration. And when she said she was pleased to see him she meant it, too. For she had already been revolving a plot in her mind in which the sergeant-major played a prominent part, and her first glance at him convinced her that he was a man whom she could trust. He was in the very position to afford her certain aid which she desired, and it was a great relief to her to find that he was just the sort of man she had imagined Mrs. Twiley’s husband to be. So she resolved to lose no time in taking him into her confidence, as she needed an able coadjutor at once. But even urgent confidences must be repressed until a seasonable opportunity for their disclosure occurs, and Miss Stratton began to fear that her designs were fated to be baulked for the time being.
At last, however, she saw a fair chance of speaking, for, supper being over, the dining-room was left to the occupation of Miss Stratton, Mrs. Dollman, and Sergeant-Major Twiley. The latter had come over unexpectedly, having had some commission in the town to execute, and still had a little time to spare ere he need return to quarters.
“Have you time to sit down here a little while, Mrs. Dollman?” asked Miss Stratton, not without a slight touch of nervousness in her voice. “I have something very important to tell you, and I am anxious that your brother-in-law should listen to me also. But the door must be carefully closed, lest we be overheard. You will appreciate my anxiety on this score when I tell you that life itself may depend upon our caution. Nay, do not look so dubious. I have much to confess to you, but my confessions are not discreditable to myself. At least, I do not believe it likely that you will think so when I have told you my story. I am here, not in the character of a fugitive, but of a pursuer.”
“And whom are you pursuing?” asked the sergeant-major, his curiosity considerably aroused.
“You know the man very well. He lives in this house.”
“Not a bit of it. I have known the man as Hugh Stavanger, as Paul Torrens, and as Harry Morton, and have at last, I hope, run him to earth as Gregory Staines.”
“Why, Miss Stratton,” said Mrs. Dollman, with some excitement, although she obeyed the warning finger held up, and modulated her voice to a low pitch, “you and he were the best of friends yesterday, and to-day, also, anyone seeing you together would have thought you were old friends.”