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 “Mr. Saffron,” but much more commonly he used the respectful “sir.”  “I think I’m equal to putting Miss Delia Wall off.”

“Still she noticed our weekly journeys!”

“Half Inkston goes to town every day, sir, and the rest three times, twice, or once a week.  I called her particular attention to the bag, and told her it was for books from Mudie’s!”

“Positive statements like that are a mistake.”  Mr. Saffron spoke with a sudden sharpness, in pointed rebuke.  “If I form a right idea of that woman, she’s quite capable of going to Mudie’s to ask about us.”

“By Jove, you’re right, sir, and I was wrong.  We’d better go and take out a subscription tomorrow; she’ll hardly go so far as to ask the date we started it.”

“Yes, let that be done.  And, remember, no unnecessary talk.”  His tone grew milder, as though he were mollified by Beaumaroy’s ready submission to his reproof.  “We have some places to call at to-morrow, have we?”

“They said they’d have some useful addresses ready for us, sir.  I’m afraid, though, that we’re exhausting the most obvious resources.”

“Still, I hope for a few more good consignments.  I suppose you remain confident that the Sergeant has no suspicions as regards that particular aspect of the matter?”