minute or more preserved a stony silence. At length he turned suddenly to Pratt. "How much?" he asked.
"I shouldn't think a couple of hundred a year would hurt you," was the calm reply.
Pembury reflected awhile. "What makes you think I am a man of means?" he asked presently.
Pratt smiled grimly. "Bless you, Mr. Pembury," said he, "I know all about you. Why, for the last six months I have been living within half-a-mile of your house."
"The devil you have!"
"Yes. When I retired from the service, General O'Gorman engaged me as a sort of steward or caretaker of his little place at Baysford—he's very seldom there himself—and the very day after I came down, I met you and spotted you, but, naturally, I kept out of sight myself. Thought I'd find out whether you were good for anything before I spoke, so I've been keeping my ears open and I find you are good for a couple of hundred."
There was an interval of silence, and then the ex-warder resumed—
"That's what comes of having a memory for faces. Now there's Jack Ellis, on the other hand; he must have had you under his nose for a couple of years, and yet he's never twigged—he never will either," added Pratt, already regretting the confidence into which his vanity had led him.
