Mr Bozzle, though he had worked hard in the cause, had heard but a word or two.  Eaves-droppers seldom do hear more than that.  A porter had already told him who was Hugh Stanbury, that he was Mr Hugh Stanbury, and that his aunt lived at Exeter.  And Bozzle, knowing that the lady about whom he was concerned was living with a Mrs Stanbury at the house he had been watching, put two and two together with his natural cleverness.  ‘God bless my soul! what business is it of yours?’ Those words were nearly all that Bozzle had been able to hear; but even those sufficiently indicated a quarrel.  ‘The lady’ was living with Mrs Stanbury, having been so placed by her husband; and young Stanbury was taking the lady’s part!  Bozzle began to fear that the husband had not confided in him with that perfect faith which he felt to be essentially necessary to the adequate performance of the duties of his great profession.  A sudden thought, however, struck him.  Something might be done on the journey up to London.  He at once made his way back to the ticket-window and exchanged his ticket second-class for first-class.  It was a noble deed, the expense falling all upon his own pocket; for, in the natural course of things, he would have charged his employers with the full first-class fare.  He had seen Colonel Osborne seat himself in a carriage, and within two minutes he was occupying the opposite place.  The Colonel was aware that he had noticed the man’s face lately, but did not know where.

‘Very fine summer weather, sir,’ said Bozzle.

‘Very fine,’ said the Colonel, burying himself behind a newspaper.

‘They is getting up their wheat nicely in these parts, sir.’

The answer to this was no more than a grunt.  But Bozzle was not offended.  Not to be offended is the special duty of all policemen, in and out of office; and the journey from Exeter to London was long, and was all before him.

‘A very nice little secluded village is Nuncombe Putney,’ said Bozzle, as the train was leaving the Salisbury station.

At Salisbury two ladies had left the carriage, no one else had got in, and Bozzle. was alone with the Colonel.

‘I dare say,’ said the Colonel, ’who by this time had relinquished his shield, and who had begun to compose himself for sleep, or to pretend to compose himself, as soon as he heard Bozzle’s voice.  He had been looking at Bozzle, and though he had not discovered the man’s trade, had told himself that his companion was a thing of dangers a thing to be avoided, by one engaged, as had been he himself, on a special and secret mission.

‘Saw you there calling at the Clock House,’ said Bozzle.

‘Very likely,’ said the Colonel, throwing his head well back into the corner, shutting his eyes, and uttering a slight preliminary snore.

‘Very nice family of ladies at the Clock House,’ said Bozzle.  The Colonel answered him by a more developed snore.  ‘Particularly Mrs T,’ said Bozzle.