ever failed me yet--I can't ay now; appointment at
ten-thirty. But you all hear from me in a day or two."

"I say," inquired Gammon, "what's your dress now?"

"Address?--oh, address letters to this place. They'll be all right."

Another fortnight passed. It was now early in November; the weather
gloomy, and by no means favourable to evening strolls. Gammon wanted
much to see both Polly and Mrs. Clover; he had all but made up his mind
to write to both of them, yet could not decide on the proper tone in
either case. Was he to be humble to Mrs. Clover? Should he beg pardon
of Polly? That kind of thing did not come easily to him.

On a day of thin yellow fog he returned about noon from seeing to a
piece of business, the result of which he had to report at once to Mr.
Quodling. He entered the clerk's office and asked whether "the
governor" was alone.

"No, he ain't," replied a friendly young man. "He's got a lord with
him."

"A what?"

"A peer of the realm, sir! I had the honour of taking his ludship's
card in--Lord Poll-parrot. Can't say I ever heard of him before."

"What d'you mean? See here, I'm in a hurry; no kid, Simpson."

"Well, it might be Poll-parrot. As a matter of fact, it's Lord
Polperro."

Gammon gazed fixedly at the young man.

"Lord Polperro? By jorrocks!"

"Know him, Mr. Gammon?" asked another of the clerks.

"I know his name. All right, I'll wait."

Musing on the remarkable coincidence--which seemed to prove beyond
doubt that there still existed some connexion between the family of
Quodling and the titled house which he had heard of from Greenacre--he
stood in the entrance passage, and looked out for five minutes through
the glass door at the fog-dimmed traffic of Norton Folgate. Then a step
sounded behind him. He moved aside and saw a man in a heavy fur-lined
overcoat, with a muffler loose about his neck; a thin,
unhealthy-looking man, with sharp eyes, rather bloodshot, which turned
timidly this way and that, and a high-bridged nose. As soon as he
caught sight of the face Gammon drew himself up, every muscle strung.
The man observed him, looked again more furtively, stepped past to the
door.

It took Gammon but a moment to dart into the clerk's room and ascertain
that the person who had just gone out was Lord Polperro. A moment more
and he was out in the street. The heavy-coated and mufflered man was
walking quickly southward; he waved his umbrella to a passing cab,
which, however, did