redit of the discovery. As for these
stories about Lord Polperro, it might turn out that Clover was
illegitimately related to the noble family--no subject for boasting,
though possibly an explanation of his strange life. If Polly were
really in communication with him--"Ho, ho! Very good! Ha, ha!"

"What now?" asked Greenacre.

"Nothing! Queer fancy I had."

After dinner they smoked together for an hour, the host talking
incessantly, and for the most part in a vein of reminiscence. To hear
him one would have supposed that he had always lived in the society of
distinguished people; never a word referring to poverty or mean
employment fell from his lips.

"Poor Bolsover!" he remarked. "Did I tell you that I had a very kind
letter from his widow?"

"I haven't seen you since."

"Ah, no, to be sure. I wrote, or rather I left a card at the town
house. Charming letter in reply. The poor lady is still quite young.
She was a Thompson of Derbyshire. I never knew the family at all well."

Gammon mused, and it occurred to him in his knowledge of the world that
Greenacre's connexion with the house of Bolsover might be that of a
begging-letter writer. There might have been some slight acquaintance
in years gone by between this strange fellow and young Lord
Bolsover--subsequently made a source of profit. Perchance, Greenacre's
prosperity at this moment resulted from a skilful appeal to the widowed
lady.

Inclined to facetiousness by a blend of choice beverages, Gammon could
not resist a joke at the moment when he took leave.

"Been out with the 'Saponaria' van to-day?" he enquired innocently.

Greenacre looked steadily at him with eyes of gentle reproach.

"I'm afraid I don't understand that allusion," he replied gravely. "Is
it a current jest? I am not much in the way of hearing that kind of
thing. By the by, let me know if I can help you in any more
genealogies."

"I will. So long, old man."

And with a wink--an undeniable wink, an audacious wink--Mr. Gammon
sallied from the hotel.

Before going to bed he wrote a letter--a letter to Miss Sparkes. Would
she see him the day after to-morrow, Sunday, if he strolled along
Shaftesbury Avenue at ten a.m.? It would greatly delight him, and
perhaps she might be persuaded to take a little jaunt to Dulwich and
look at his bow-wows.

CHAPTER XII

POLLY CONDESCENDS

There was time enough for Polly to reply to this invitation, but reply
she did not. None the less, G