He found Hastings in his room, with him a little, dapper, sly-eyed Jew. “Discreet Inquiries. Divorces, Watching, etc.,” thought Anthony.
“This,” murmured Hastings, “is Mr. Pellett.”
“Ah, yes.” Anthony sat down heavily. He was tired and very hungry. He had not eaten since breakfast. Mr. Pellett displeased him.
“Mr. Pellett,” said Hastings, “has some information which should interest you. I have paid him fifty pounds. He wants another two hundred.”
“He would,” Anthony said. “And if he’s got what I want he shall have it.”
“Thath right,” said Mr. Pellett with a golden smile.
“It may be.” Anthony fixed him with a glittering eye. “Let us hear you, Mr.—er—Pellet.”
Mr. Pellett cleared his throat, produced a packet of papers, wiped his hands on a pink silk handkerchief and began.
“About theeth three newthpaperth,” he said—and went on for one hour and fifty-seven minutes by the clock on Hastings’s table.
He got his two hundred pounds.