Towards the end Gammon grew silent and meditative.  He kept gazing at the windows as if for aid in some calculation.  When Polly at last threw down her cheese-knife, glowing with the thought that she had dined well at somebody else’s expense, he leaned forward on the table, looked her in the eyes, and began a momentous dialogue.

CHAPTER XIII

GAMMON THE CRAFTY

“What did you want to do such a silly thing as that for?”

Polly stared in astonishment.

“What d’you mean?”

“Why did you let out to Mrs. Clover what you knew?”

The girl’s colour deepened by a shade (it was already rich), and her eyes grew alarmed, suspicious, watchful.

“I didn’t let out what I knew,” she answered rather confused.

It was Gammon’s turn to watch keenly.

“Not all, of course not,” he remarked slyly.  “But why couldn’t you keep it to yourself that you’d met him?”

Polly’s eyes wandered.  Gammon smiled with satisfaction.

“I’d have kept that to myself,” he said in a friendly way.  “I know how it was, of course; you got riled and came out with it.  A great pity.  She had all but forgot him; now she’ll never rest till she’s found him out.  And you might have seen how much more to your advantage it was to keep a thing like that quiet.”

Unwonted mental disturbance was playing tricks with Polly’s complexion.  She evidently feared to compromise herself, and at the same time desired to know all that was in her companion’s mind.

“What business is it of yours?” was the crude phrase that at length fell from her lips, uttered half-heartedly, between resentment and jesting.

“Well, there’s the point,” replied Gammon, with a laugh.  “Queer thing, but it just happens to be particular business of mine.”

Polly stared.  He nodded.

“There’s such a thing, Polly, as going halves in a secret.  I’ve been wondering these last few days whether I should tell you or not.  But we’re getting on so well together—­eh?  Better than I expected, for one.  I shouldn’t feel I was doing right, Polly, if I took any advantage of you.”

She was growing excited.  Her wiles had given way before superior stratagem, and perhaps before something in herself that played traitor.

“You mean you know about him?” she asked, almost confidentially.

“Not all I want to—­yet.  He’s a sharp customer.  But considerably more than you do, Polly, my dear.”

“I don’t believe you!”

“That has nothing to do with it.  Suppose you ask me a question or two.  I might be able to tell you something you would like to know.”

It was said, of course, without any suspicion of the real state of things; but Gammon saw at once that he had excited an eager curiosity.

“You know where he is, then?” asked Polly.

“Well—­we’ll say so.”