"What are you
up to, eh?"
"Ah, Gammon, how do you do? I'm glad you've dropped in. Let us sit
down and have a quiet talk."
The man of mystery was very well dressed, very cool, more than equal
to the situation. He took for granted the perfect friendliness of
both Polly and Gammon, smiled from one to the other, and as he
seated himself, drew out a cigarette case.
"I'm sure Miss Sparkes won't mind. I have already apologized,
Gammon, for the necessity of introducing myself. You, I am sure,
will forgive me when you learn the position of affairs. I'm so glad
you happened to drop in."
Declining a cigarette, Gammon stared about him in angry confusion.
He had no words ready. Greenacre's sang-froid, though it irritated
him excessively, shamed him into quiet behaviour.
"When you entered, Gammon, I was just explaining to Miss Sparkes
that I am here on behalf of her uncle, Lord Polperro."
"Oh, you are. And how do you come to know him?"
"Singular accident. The kind of thing that is constantly happening
in London. Lord Polperro is living next door to an old friend of
mine, a man I haven't seen for some seven or eight years till the
other day.
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