to the grate.

"Then I tell you what I'll do--I'll have up Bob."

"Bob--why Bob?"

"Bob"--whose real name was Robert Haines, though I should think he must
have forgotten the fact, so seldom was he addressed by it--was Tress's
servant. He had been an old soldier, and had accompanied his master when
he left the service. He was as depraved a character as Tress himself. I am
not sure even that he was not worse than his master. I shall never forget
how he once behaved toward myself. He actually had the assurance to accuse
me of attempting to steal the Wardour Street relic which Tress fondly
deludes himself was once the property of Sir Walter Raleigh. The truth is
that I had slipped it with my handkerchief into my pocket in a fit of
absence of mind. A man who could accuse _me_ of such a thing would be
guilty of anything. I was therefore quite at one with Brasher when he
asked what Bob could possibly be wanted for. Tress explained.

"I'll get him to smoke the pipe," he said.

Brasher and I exchanged glances, but we refrained from speech.

"It won't do him any harm," said Tress.

"What--not a poisoned pipe?" asked Brasher.

"It's not poisoned--it's only drugged."

"_Only_ drugged!"

"Nothing hurts Bob. He is like an ostrich. He has digestive organs which
are peculiarly his own. It will only serve him as it served me--and
Pugh--it will knock him over. It is all done in the Pursuit of Truth and
for the Advancement of Inquiry."

I could see that Brasher did not altogether like the tone in which Tress
repeated his words. As for me, it was not to be supposed that I should put
myself out in a matter which in no way concerned me. If Tress chose to
poison the man, it was his affair, not mine. He went to the door and
shouted:

"Bob! Come here, you scoundrel!"

That is the way in which he speaks to him. No really decent servant would
stand it. I shouldn't care to address Nalder, my servant, in such a way.
He would give me notice on the spot. Bob came in. He is a great hulking
fellow who is always on the grin. Tress had a decanter of brandy in his
hand. He filled a tumbler with the neat spirit.

"Bob, what would you say to a glassful of brandy--the real thing--my boy?"

"Thank you, sir."

"And what would you say to a pull at a pipe when the brandy is drunk!"

"A pipe?" The fellow is sharp enough when he likes. I saw him look at the
pipe upon the table, and then at us, and then a gleam of intelligence came
into his eye