eyebrows were raised in gentle protest.     

       “Once you’re in with a job, you never know,” his retainer observed darkly.     

       Beaumaroy laughed. “Oh, go to the devil! and mix me another whisky.”       Yet a vague uneasiness showed itself on his face; he looked across the room at the evil-shaped man handling the bottles in the cupboard. He made one queer, restless movement of his arms, as though to free himself. Then, in a moment, he sprang from his chair, a glad kindly smile illuminating his face; he bowed in a very courtly fashion, exclaiming, “Ah! here       you are, sir? And all well, I hope?”     

       Mr. Saffron had entered from the door leading to the Tower, carefully closing it after him. Hooper’s hand went up to his forehead in the ghost of a military salute, but a sneering smile persisted on his lips. The only notice Mr. Saffron took of him was a jerk of the head towards the passage, an abrupt and ungracious dismissal, which, however, the Sergeant silently accepted and stumped out. The greeting reserved for Beaumaroy was vastly different. Beaumaroy’s own cordiality was more than reciprocated. It seemed impossible to doubt that a genuine affection existed between the elder and the younger man, though the latter had not thought fit to mention the fact to Sergeant Hooper.     

       “A tiring day, my dear Hector, very tiring. I’ve transacted a lot of business. But never mind that, it will keep. What of your doings?”     

       Having sat the old man in the big chair by the fire, Beaumaroy sauntered across to the door of the Tower, locked it, and put the key in his pocket. Then he returned to the fire and, standing in front of it, gave a lively and detailed account of his visit to Old Place.     

       “They appear to be pleasant people, very pleasant. I should like to know them, if it was not desirable for me to live an entirely secluded life.” Mr. Saffron’s speech was very distinct and clean cut, rather rapid, high in tone but not disagreeable. “You make pure fun of this Miss Wall, as you do of so many things, Hector, but—”       he smiled up at Beaumaroy—“inquisitiveness is not our favorite sin just now!”     

       “She’s so indiscriminately inquisitive that it’s a thousand to one against her really finding out anything of importance, sir.” Beaumaroy sometimes addressed his employer as 

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