mind it ain't fit for
you, this 'ere kind of work. It's good enough for black-scum and for
chocolate-birds like Durnovo; but this country's not built for honest
white men--least of all for born and bred gentlemen."

"Yes--that's all very well in theory, Joseph, and I'm much obliged to
you for thinking of me. But you must remember that we live in an age
where money sanctifies everything. Your hands can't get dirty if there
is money inside them."

Joseph laughed aloud.

"Ah, that's your way of speaking, sir, that's all. And I'm glad to hear
it. You have not spoken like that for two months and more."

"No--it is only my experience of the world."

"Well, sir, talkin' of experience, I've had about enough, as I tell you,
and I beg to place my resignation in your hands. I shall do the same by
Mr. Oscard if I reach that Platter, God willin', as the sayin' is."

"All right, Joseph."

Still there was something left to say. Joseph paused and scratched the
back of his neck pensively with one finger.

"Will you be writin' to Mr. Oscard, sir, for me to take?"

"Yes."

"Then I should be obliged if you would mention the fact that I would
rather not be left alone with that blackguard Durnovo, either up at the
Platter or travelling down. That man's got on my nerves, sir; and
I'm mortal afraid of doing him a injury. He's got a long neck--you've
noticed that, perhaps. There was a little Gourkha man up in Cabul taught
me a trick--it's as easy as killing a chicken--but you want a man wi' a
long neck--just such a neck as Durnovo's."

"But what harm has the man done you," asked Meredith, "that you think so
affectionately of his neck?"

"No harm, sir, but we're just like two cats on a wall, watchin' each
other and hating each other like blue poison. There's more villainy at
that man's back than you think for--mark my words."

Joseph moved towards the door.

"Do you KNOW anything about him--anything shady?" cried Meredith after
him.

"No, sir. I don't KNOW anything. But I suspects a whole box full. One
of these days I'll find him out, and if I catch him fair there'll be a
rough and tumble. It'll be a pretty fight, sir, for them that's sittin'
in the front row."

Joseph rubbed his hands slowly together and departed, leaving his master
to begin a long letter to Guy Oscard.

And at the other end of the passage, in her room with the door locked,
Jocelyn Gordon was sitting, hard-eyed, motionless. She had probably
saved the lif