“Well, there’s nothing like a spice of modesty, Moneylaws,” said he.  “If you can do all we’ve just talked of, you’ll satisfy me well enough.  I like the looks of you, and I’m sure you’re the sort that’ll do the thing thoroughly.  The post’s at your disposal, if you like to take it.”

I was still struggling with my amazement.  Five hundred pounds a year!—­and a permanency!  It seemed a fortune to a lad of my age.  And I was trying to find the right words in which to say all that I felt, when he spoke again.

“Look here!” he said.  “Don’t let us arrange this as if we’d done it behind your present employer’s back—­I wouldn’t like Mr. Lindsey to think I’d gone behind him to get you.  Let it be done this way:  I’ll call on Mr. Lindsey myself, and tell him I’m wanting a steward for the property, and that I’ve heard good reports of his clerk, and that I’ll engage you on his recommendation.  He’s the sort that would give you a strong word by way of reference, eh?”

“Oh, he’ll do that, Sir Gilbert!” I exclaimed.  “Anything that’ll help me on—­”

“Then let’s leave it at that,” said he.  “I’ll drop in on him at his office—­perhaps to-morrow.  In the meantime, keep your own counsel.  But—­you’ll take my offer?”

“I’d be proud and glad to, Sir Gilbert,” said I.  “And if you’ll make allowance for a bit of inexperience—­”

“You’ll do your best, eh?” he laughed.  “That’s all right, Moneylaws.”

He walked out with me to the door, and on to the terrace.  And as I wheeled my bicycle away from the porch, he took a step or two alongside me, his hands in his pockets, his lips humming a careless tune.  And suddenly he turned on me.

“Have you heard any more about that affair last night?” he asked.  “I mean about Crone?”

“Nothing, Sir Gilbert,” I answered.

“I hear that the opinion is that the man was struck down by a gaff,” he remarked.  “And perhaps killed before he was thrown into the Till.”

“So the doctor seemed to think,” I said.  “And the police, too, I believe.”

“Aye, well,” said he, “I don’t know if the police are aware of it, but I’m very sure there’s night-poaching of salmon going on hereabouts, Moneylaws.  I’ve fancied it for some time, and I’ve had thoughts of talking to the police about it.  But you see, my land doesn’t touch either Till or Tweed, so I haven’t cared to interfere.  But I’m sure that it is so, and it wouldn’t surprise me if both these men, Crone and Phillips, met their deaths at the hands of the gang I’m thinking of.  It’s a notion that’s worth following up, anyway, and I’ll have a word with Murray about it when I’m in the town tomorrow.”