“I got to know of that,” went on the wily Gammon.  “And I told Greenacre.  And Greenacre made me tell it to Lord P. himself.  And that’s how I came to be with Lord P. on New Year’s Eve!  Now you’ve got it all.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” asked Polly with ferocity.

“Ah, why?  I was ashamed to, my dear.  I couldn’t own up that I’d made a fool of myself and you too.”

“How did you know that he’d been at my aunt’s?”

“She sent for me, Polly; sent for me and told me, because I was an old friend.  And I was so riled at the fellow coming and going in that way that I spoke to Greenacre about it.  And then Greenacre told me how things were.  I felt a fool, I can tell you.  But the fact is, I never saw two men so like in the face as Clover and Lord P.”

“When you was there—­at my aunt’s—­did you talk about me?” asked the girl with a peculiar awkwardness.

“Not a word, I swear!  We were too much taken up with the other business.”

For a minute or two neither spoke.

“And you mean to say,” burst at length from Polly, “that my uncle’s still alive and going about?”

“All alive and kicking, not a doubt of it, and Lord P. buried at Kensal Green; no will left behind him, and all his property going to the next of kin, of course.  Now listen here, Polly.  I want to tell you that I shouldn’t wonder if you have a letter from Greenacre.  He may be asking you to meet him.”

“What for?”

“Just to have a talk about Clover—­see?  He’s still after Clover, and he thinks you might be of use to him.  I leave it to you—­understand?  You can meet him if you like; there’s no harm.  He’ll tell you all the story if you ask him nicely.”

On this idea, which had occurred to him in the course of his glowing mendacity, Gammon acted as soon as he and Polly had said good-bye.  He discovered Greenacre, who no longer slept at the Bilboes, but in a house of like cosiness and obscurity a little farther west; told him of the brilliant ingenuity with which he had escaped from a galling complication, and received his promise of assistance in strengthening the plot.  Greenacre wrote to Polly that very night, and on the morrow conversed with her, emphasizing by many devices the secrecy and importance of their interview.  Would Polly engage to give him the benefit of her shrewdness, her knowledge of life, in his search for the man Clover?  His air of professional eagerness, his nods, winks, and flattery so wrought upon the girl that she ceased to harbour suspicion.  Her primitive mind, much fed on penny fiction, accepted all she was told, and in the consciousness of secret knowledge affecting lords and ladies she gave up without a sigh the air-drawn vision of being herself actually a member of an aristocratic family.

At the same time she thought of Gammon with disappointment, with vague irritation, and began all but to wish that she had never weakly pardoned him for his insulting violence at Mrs. Bubbs’.