become, in so flattering a way, my patron, really is Briggs?"
"Wait a moment. When she goes away she'll tell the cab-driver to drive to Campden Hill Gardens." Again Mr. Major started. "When she gets home she'll have a letter addressed to"—Mr. Gill hesitated—"to Miss Davidson."
"Oh! To Miss Davidson."
Mr. Major's voice was a trifle husky.
"The handwriting on the envelope will be very fine and small. The postmark will be Oban."
Mr. Major caught Mr. Gill by the shoulder.
"Gill!—stop! That will do! Come, let's get home. Gill, I should say that you were going off your nut."
"I don't know about going off my nut exactly, but there's something wrong with the works, I do believe."
"You don't suppose that I believe a syllable of all that nonsense you've been talking?"
"It's gospel truth, every word of it."
When they had gone a few steps further Mr. Gill stopped short
"Mr. Major, there's a man coming along the road, in a brown check coat, who's going to pay you half a sovereign which he owes you."
As a matter of fact, when they had proceeded about a hundred yards along the Waterloo Road they were approached by a man in a brown check coat, which was decidedly the worse for wear, who, at sight of them, pulled up.
"Hollo, Major! The very man I wanted to see. I think that makes us straight."
