'On your way, boss. What's dat?'
'He has invited us to his country house, and we're going.'
'What? Bot'of us?'
'Yes. I told him you were my servant. I hope you aren't offended.'
'Nit. What's dere to be raw about, boss?'
'That's all right. Well, we'd better be packing. We have to be at
the station at two.'
'Sure.'
'And, Spike!'
'Yes, boss?'
'Did you get any other clothes besides what you've got on?'
'Nit. What do I want wit more dan one dude suit?'
'I approve of your rugged simplicity,' said Jimmy, 'but what you're
wearing is a town suit. Excellent for the Park or the Marchioness's
Thursday crush, but essentially metropolitan. You must get something
else for the country, something dark and quiet. I'll come and help
you choose it, now.'
'Why, won't dis go in de country?'
'Not on your life, Spike. It would unsettle the rustic mind. They're
fearfully particular about that sort of thing in England.'
'Dey's to de bad,' said the baffled disciple of Beau Brummel, with
deep discontent.
'And there's just one more thing, Spike. I know you'll excuse my
mentioning it. When we're at Dreever Castle, you will find yourself
within reach of a good deal of silver and other things. Would it be
too much to ask you to forget your professional instincts? I
mentioned this before in a general sort of way, but this is a
particular case.'
'Ain't I to get busy at all, den?' queried Spike.
'Not so much as a salt-spoon,' said Jimmy, firmly. 'Now, we'll
whistle a cab, and go and choose you some more clothes.'
Accompanied by Spike, who came within an ace of looking almost
respectable in new blue serge ('Small Gent's'--off the peg), Jimmy
arrived at Paddington Station with a quarter of an hour to spare.
Lord Dreever appeared ten minutes later, accompanied by a man of
about Jimmy's age. He was tall and thin, with cold eyes and tight,
thin lips. His clothes fitted him in the way clothes do fit one man
in a thousand. They were the best part of him. His general
appearance gave one the idea that his meals did him little good, and
his meditations rather less. He had practically no conversation.
This was Lord Dreever's friend, Hargate. Lord Dreever made the
introductions; but, even as they shook hands, Jimmy had an
impression that he had seen the man before. Yet, where or in what
circumstances he could not remember. Hargate appeared to have no
recollection of him, so he did not mention the matter. A man who has
led a wandering life often sees faces that come back to him later
on, absolutely detatched from their context. He might merely have
passed Lord Dreever's friend on the street. But Jimmy had an idea
that the other had figured in some episode which at the moment had
