“Of course not,” said Glover. “You see, it won’t do to be seen in this thing myself. What I want you to do is to come down with me to Stourwich and bring the old man to London; then I can find him at my own time, in the street or anywhere, quite haphazard like.”
“I don’t quite see how it is to be done,” said Tillotson.
“Meet me to-morrow morning at Waterloo, at ten minutes past eight,” said Glover, finishing his glass and rising; “and we will have a try, at any rate.”
He shook hands with his friend, and following him down the uncarpeted stairs, said a few words at the door in favor of early rising, and departed to his place of business to make his own arrangements about the morrow.
He was at the station and in the train first in the morning, Mr. Tillotson turning up with that extreme punctuality which enables a man to catch his train before it has got up full speed.
“I was half afraid at one time that I shouldn’t have done it,” said Mr. Tillotson, in self-congratulation, as he fell on to the seat. “Smoker, too! Couldn’t have done better if I had been here at seven o’clock.”
His friend grunted, and, there being nobody else in the carriage, began at once to discuss the practical part of the business.
“If he could only read we might send a letter aboard to him,” said Mr. Tillotson, pushing his hat back. “The idea of a man his age not being able to!”
“He’s one of the old school,” said Glover.
“Funny sort of school,” said Tillotson flippantly. “Well, we must take our chance of him going for a walk, I suppose.”