"Mum's the word," muttered the man.
Sir Reginald Eversleigh and Douglas Dale took their places in the
phaeton, and drove away.
Victor Carrington arrived at half-past eight at the "Goat and
Compasses"--a shabby little public-house in a shabby little street.
Here he found Mr. Hawkins lounging in the bar, waiting for him, and
beguiling the time by the consumption of a glass of gin.
"There's no one in the parlour, sir," said Hawkins, as he recognized
Mr. Carrington; "and if you'll step in there, we shall be quite
private. I suppose there ain't no objection to this gent and me
stepping into the parlour, is there, Mariar?" Mr. Hawkins asked of a
young lady, in a very smart cap, who officiated as barmaid.
"Well, you ain't a parlour customer in general, Mr. Hawkins; but I
suppose if the gent wants to speak to you, there'll be no objection to
your making free with the parlour, promiscuous," answered the damsel,
with supreme condescension. "And if the gent has any orders to give,
I'm ready to take 'em," she added, pertly.
Victor Carrington ordered a pint of brandy.
The parlour was a dingy little apartment, very much the worse for stale
tobacco smoke, and adorned with gaudy racing-prints. Here Mr.
Carrington seated himself, and told his companion to take the place
opposite him.
"Fill yourself a glass of brandy," he said. And Mr.
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