“There, Morley, is some one who will be glad to listen to what you have been telling me, but if you have the least regard for your master’s reputation, not to mention his neck, you will see him further first. You’re not forced to speak a word unless you choose; I shouldn’t choose; and here’s something to help you not to choose.”
I handed him a wine-glass full of brandy. He swallowed it so fast that it set him coughing. There came the knocking at the door again.
“Open this door, Mr. Ferguson!”
“With pleasure. You seem to be in a hurry, sir. Possibly you are not aware that these rooms are private, and that it is not necessary that I should open to every person who takes it into his head to knock.”
As, opening the door, I planted myself in the doorway, Mr. Symonds looked at me as if surprised. He was not a little man, but I was a good head taller, and I fancy that he had not expected to find me quite so big, or he would have hustled past me. As it was, he refrained.
“I am informed that you have some one in your rooms who can give important information in the matter of Mr. Edwin Lawrence’s murder.”
“Indeed. Who is your informant?”
“I am. You will find, Ferguson, that you cannot play with edged tools.”
Hume was the speaker.
“So? Pray enter, Mr. Symonds.” Hume tried to pass in after him. “If you don’t mind, I would rather not. I think that edged tools are better outside.”