“Glad to see you, old chap,” cried the footman heartily. “I’ve been longing to hear how you got on with that little job at Weymouth. No difficulty in finding her ladyship, I suppose?”
“Tumbled to her at once,” answered Johnson, who adapted his tone and language to those of the company in which he found himself for the time being. “Took a walk down to the post-office, and she and the maid fell into my arms in a manner o’ speaking.”
Johnson paused, not quite knowing what to say next. Willet looked at him inquiringly, but meeting with no response exhibited signs of injured dignity.
“Look here, old man, it ain’t my business to pry into secrets that don’t concern me. But I helped you a goodish bit in that quarter, and I don’t think you need be so devilish close.”
Johnson goaded himself to speech; if he was to retain his cousin’s friendship he must say something. And the man spoke the truth; he had helped him to the extent of making the preliminaries very easy.
“Now, look here, laddie, I should like to tell you everything. You helped me a lot, but on my honour I can’t do it. Large interests and great people are affected in the matter. But I will tell you this much, and you must believe me or not, as you please: I found her ladyship right enough, only to discover that I was on the wrong scent. Now and again, you know, we do make bloomers at the Yard.”
Mr Willet’s affability was at once restored by this frank and manly statement. “Say no more, old man; mum’s the word. Fill up, to show there’s no ill-feeling.”
Johnson filled up, and drank his relative’s health with becoming cordiality. He wanted something more out of him yet.
“So far as Lady Wrenwyck is concerned. I’ve no further use for her. But I haven’t quite done with all the people in the Wrenwyck house itself. Only this time I’m on another track altogether.”
Willet’s eyes bulged out of his head with curiosity, but he knew from experience that wild horses would not drag out of Johnson anything that astute detective had made up his mind to conceal.