“Would you like a little ball-pup.  Miss Sparkes?” he pursued in a conciliatory tone.  “A lovely little button-ear?  There’s a new litter say the word, and I’ll bring you one.”

“Thank you.  I don’t care for dogs.”

“No?  But I’m sure you would if you kept one.  Now, I have a cobby little fox terrier—­just the dog for a lady.  No?  Or a sweet little black-and-tan—­just turning fifteen pounds, with a lovely neck and kissing spots on both cheeks.  I wouldn’t offer her to everybody.”

“Very good of you,” replied Miss Sparkes contemptuously.

“Why ain’t you goin’ to business?” asked the landlady.

“I’ll tell you.  We had a little difference of opinion yesterday.  The governors have been disappointed about a new line in the fancy leather; it wouldn’t go, and I told them the reason, but that wasn’t good enough.  They hinted that it was my fault.  Of course, I said nothing; I never do in such cases.  But—­this morning I had breakfast in bed.”

He spoke with eyes half closed and an odd vibration of the upper lip, then broke into a laugh.

“You’re an independent party, you are,” said Mrs. Bubb, eyeing him with admiration.

“It was always more than I could do to stand a hint of that kind.  Not so long ago I used to lose my temper, but I’ve taken pattern by Polly—­I mean Miss Sparkes—­and now I do it quietly.  That reminds me”—­his look changed to seriousness—­“do you know anyone of the name of Quodling?”

Polly—­to whom he spoke—­answered with a dry negative.

“Sure?  Try and think if you ever heard your uncle speak of the name.”

The girl’s eyes fell as if, for some reason, she felt a momentary embarrassment.  It passed, but in replying she looked away from Mr. Gammon.

“Quodling?  Never heard it—­why?”

“Why, there is a man called Quodling who might be your uncle’s twin brother—­he looks so like him.  I caught sight of him in the City, and tracked him till I got to know his place of business and his name.  For a minute or two I thought I’d found your uncle; I really did.  Gosh!  I said to myself, there’s Clover at last!  I wonder I didn’t pin him like a bull terrier.  But, as you know, I’m cautious—­that’s how I’ve made my fortune, Polly.”

Miss Sparkes neither observed the joke nor resented the name; she was listening with a preoccupied air.

“You’ll never find him,” said Mrs. Bubb, shaking her head.

“Don’t be so sure of that.  I shan’t lose sight of this man Quodling.  It’s the strangest likeness I ever saw, and I shan’t be satisfied till I’ve got to know if he has any connexion with the name of Clover.  It ain’t easy to get at, but I’ll manage it somehow.  Now, if I had Polly to help me—­I mean Miss Sparkes—­”

With a muttering of impatience the girl rose; in the same moment she drew from her belt a gold watch, and deliberately consulted it.  Observing this Mrs. Bubb looked towards Mr. Gammon, who, also observant, returned the glance.