"Pity!" he yelled; "I have twenty-four years' service--pardon!"
* * * * *
An hour later, when Hawkshawe came according to his word to see if Jackson would go for a ride, he found Peregrine apparently idling before his table.
"Ha! I see you've found nothing to do; come along."
"I can't," said Peregrine; "I want to think out something."
"Oh, don't let that little affair of Pozendine's bother you. It didn't happen in your time, you know. You'll get all the credit of finding out about the bribery and corruption."
"Do you know what has happened?"
"Ain't I your Fouché? Are you coming?"
"No, thanks. I must think this out."
Hawkshawe turned and went, whistling gaily. Mounting his horse, he galloped down a long embankment along the river face, and then, reining in, stood apparently watching Pazobin robed in the glories of a wondrous sunset. "By Jove!" he exclaimed, "I very nearly made an ass of myself over that police guard. Anyhow, if this comes off, no more of it; but Ma Mie is getting dangerous. My nerve is not what it used to be, but--I must get rid of her at all risks. Damn that straight-laced fool Jackson! He's always bringing back recollections to me, and I, Alban Hawkshawe, can not afford to remember--to think that my honour was once as clean as the palm of my hand, and now----"