"You are making a mistake, sir," replied an indistinct voice, with
an effort at dignity.
"Oh, no, not a bit of it. Not now I've heard you speak, Mr. Clover."
"I don't understand you, sir," sounded more clearly, the pallid
visage now a muddy red and the eyes moist. "That is not my name. Be
so good as to go your way."
"Certainly. I just wanted to make sure, that's all. No fuss. Good
morning, Mr. Clover."
Gammon drew back. He heard the order "Charing Cross," and the cab
drew away.
After a moment or two of irresolution Gammon walked hurriedly back
to the nearest public-house, where he called for a glass of bitter
and the Directory. With the former he slaked a decided dryness of
the throat, the latter he searched eagerly in the section "Court."
There it was! "Polperro, Lord, 16, Lowndes Mansions, Sloane Street,
S.W. Junior Ramblers' Club. Trefoyle, Liskeard, Cornwall."
By jorrocks!
With thoughts tuned to anything but the oil and colour business he
returned to Quodlings' and had his interview with the head of the
firm.
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