"See those men who watered Rodney?"
Mr. Bush broke into a large laugh.
"Rodney'll be sproutin'," he said—"Rodney'll be sproutin'!"
"They are detectives," said the Duke—"Scotland Yard fellows."
Mr. Bush stared at the gardeners as if they were wild animals.
"What are they a-doin' of?" he asked. "What are they here for?"
"I'll let you into the secret," said the Duke, whispering with great elaboration, and leaning to Mr. Bush's ear in a dramatic manner: "they're here for me."
Mr. Bush made no reply, but turned his heavy eyes slowly from the Duke to the gardeners, and back again. The Duke again prodded him in the ribs, at the same time throwing up his left leg to a considerable height.
"You're a bit of a dog, you know, yourself," he whispered; "you want watching, too. What? The husband that would trust you would soon find himself in Queer Street—eh, eh?"