m in a bit of genealogy," said Greenacre. "Always interesting.
Stanhope Gardens? What number?"

He urged no further question and gave no promise, but Gammon felt sure
this time that information would speedily be forthcoming. Scarcely a
week passed before Greenacre wrote to him with a request for a meeting
at the Bilboes. As usual, the man of mystery approached his subject by
indirect routes. Beginning with praise of London as the richest ground
of romance discoverable in the world, he proceeded to tell the story of
a cats'-meat woman who, after purveying for the cats at a West End
mansion for many years, discovered one day that the master of the house
was her own son.

"He behaved to her very handsomely. At this moment she is living in a
pleasant little villa out Leatherhead way. You see her driving herself
in a little donkey-carriage, and throwing bits of meat to pussy-cats at
the cottage doors. Touch of nature that, isn't it? By the by, you were
speaking of a family named Gildersleeve."

He added this, absently looking about the little room, which just now
they had to themselves.

"Know anything about them?" asked Gammon, eyeing him curiously.

"I was just going to say--ah, yes, to be sure, the Gildersleeves. Now I
wonder, Gammon--forgive me, I can't help wondering--_why_ this family
interests you."

"Oh, nothing. I came across the name."

"Evidently." Greenacre's tone became a little more positive. "I'm sure
you have no objection to telling me how and where you came across it."

Gammon had an uncomfortable sense of something unfamiliar in his
friend. Greenacre had never spoken in this way to him; it sounded
rather too imperative, too much the tone of a superior.

"I don't think I can tell you that," he said awkwardly.

"No? Really? I'm sorry. In that case I can't tell you anything that I
have learnt. Yet I fancy it _might_ be worth your while to exchange."

"Exchange?"

"Your information for mine, you know. What I have is substantial,
reliable. I think you can trust me in matters of genealogy. Come now.
Am I right in supposing this curiosity of yours is not altogether
unconnected with Your interest in Francis Quodling the silk broker?
Nothing to me, Gammon; nothing, I assure you. Pure love of genealogical
inquiry. Never made a penny out of such things in my life. But I have
taken a little trouble, etc. As a matter of friendship--no? Then we'll
drop the subject. By the by have you a black-and-tan to disp