“Rot! my dear fellow! What can the old clergyman know? Nothing. It’s all surmise—and what does that matter? There’s no trace, and—”
“And we made a profit—and a fine lot of good it did us.”
“It was Freda’s doing. She worked it out.”
“I know. And, thanks to her, we are in the infernal peril we are to-day, my dear Gordon.”
“Peril? Bosh! What are you thinking of, Jimmie?” laughed Gray. “There’s not a written word.”
“But you know what old Homfray said to Freda—what he threatened—a witness!”
“Witness!” laughed the good-looking man, tossing his cigarette end viciously into the fire. “Don’t believe it, my dear old chap. He was only trying to bluff her—and Freda knows a game worth two of that—the game we are playing with the old fool’s son.”
“A highly dangerous game—I call it!” was the butler’s dubious reply.
“Leave that to me.”
“But he might recognise me, Gordon!”