On a day of thin yellow fog he returned about noon from seeing to a
piece of business, the result of which he had to report at once to
Mr. Quodling. He entered the clerk's office and asked whether "the
governor" was alone.
"No, he ain't," replied a friendly young man. "He's got a lord with
him."
"A what?"
"A peer of the realm, sir! I had the honour of taking his ludship's
card in--Lord Poll-parrot. Can't say I ever heard of him before."
"What d'you mean? See here, I'm in a hurry; no kid, Simpson."
"Well, it might be Poll-parrot. As a matter of fact, it's Lord
Polperro."
Gammon gazed fixedly at the young man.
"Lord Polperro? By jorrocks!"
"Know him, Mr. Gammon?" asked another of the clerks.
"I know his name. All right, I'll wait."
Musing on the remarkable coincidence--which seemed to prove beyond
doubt that there still existed some connexion between the family of
Quodling and the titled house which he had heard of from
Greenacre--he stood in the entrance passage, and looked out for five
minutes through the glass door at the fog-dimmed traffic of Norton
Folgate.
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