The old frightened look which we have seen on Mrs. Wilders’s face before when brought into antagonism with this man returned to it, and her voice was less firm, her manner less defiant, as she said—­

“Spare me your threats.  You know I am most anxious to oblige you—­to help you.”

“You have put me off too long with these vague promises.  I must have something more tangible at once.”

“It is so difficult to find out anything.”

“Not if you go the right way to work.  A woman of your attractions, your cleverness, ought to be able to twist any man round her finger.  You have done it often enough already, goodness knows.  Now, there’s old Faulks; when did you see him last?”

“Not a week ago.”

“And you got nothing out of him?  I thought he was devoted to you.”

“He is most attentive, most obliging, but still exceedingly wary.  He will talk about anything rather than business.  I have tried him repeatedly.  I have introduced the subject of his nephew, of whom he is now so proud.”

“Your enemy, you mean—­that young McKay.”

“Exactly.  I thought that by bringing the conversation to the Crimea I might squeeze out something important.  But no! he is always as close as an oyster.”

“He will be ready enough to talk about his dear nephew before long.  You may look out for some startling news about McKay.”

“Really?” said Mrs. Wilders, growing suddenly excited.  “Your plan has succeeded, then?”

“Any day you may hear that he has been removed effectually, and for ever, from your path.  But for the moment that will keep.  What presses is that you should squeeze old Faulks.  There is something that I must know to-day, or to-morrow at latest.  You must go and see him at once.”

“At his office?”

“Why not?”

“But on what pretence?  I have never been there as yet.  He has always come here to lunch or dine.  He is fond of a good dinner.”

“Ask him again.”

“But I could do that by letter.  He may suspect me if I go to him without some plausible excuse.”

“Trump up some story about his nephew.  Only get to him; he will soon give you an opening you can turn to account.  I trust to your cleverness for that; only lose no time.”

“Must I go to-day?”

“This very afternoon; directly you leave the house.”

CHAPTER IV.

IN WHITEHALL.

The Military Munitions’ department was one of a dozen or more seated at that period in and about Whitehall.  Its ostensible functions, as its title implied, were to supply warlike and other stores to the British army when actively engaged.  But as wars had been rare for nearly half-a-century it had done more during that time towards providing a number of worthy gentlemen with comfortable incomes than in ministering to the wants of troops in the field.