Mr. Gammon flattered himself that he knew the City tolerably well, but
with the place of refreshment to which his friend now led him he was
totally unacquainted. It stood or lurked in a very obscure by-way
between the Bank and St. Paul's, and looked externally by no means
inviting; within, but for the absence of daylight at all times, it was
comfortable enough, and peculiarly quiet--something between an old inn
and a modern public-house, with several small rooms for eating,
drinking, smoking, or any other legitimate occupation. The few men who
were about had a prosperous appearance, and Gammon saw that they did
not belong to his special world.

"What does the name mean?" he inquired, as they seated themselves under
a gas-jet in a corner made cosy with a deep divan.

"Bilboes? Oh, I originated it in the days gone by. The proprietor was a
man called William Bowes--you perceive? Poor little Jimmy Todd used to
roar about it. The best-natured fellow that ever lived. You've heard me
speak of him--second son of Sir Luke Todd. Died, poor boy, out in
India."

"What promise of mine were you talking about?" asked Gammon, when an
order for drinks had been given.

"Promise--promise? Nonsense! You're wool-gathering to-day, my dear boy.
By the by, I called at your place on Sunday. I was driving a very fresh
pony, new to harness; promised to trot her round a little for a friend
of mine. Thought you might have liked a little turn on the Surrey
roads."

Greenacre chatted with his usual fluency, and seemed at ease in the
world.

"You're doing well just now, eh?" said Gammon presently.

"Thanks; feel remarkably well. A touch of liver now and then, but
nothing serious. By the by, anything I can do for you? Any genealogy?"

Gammon had drained his tumbler of hot whisky, and felt better for it.
With the second he became more communicative. He asked himself why,
after all, he should not hang on to the clue he had obtained from
Polly, and why Greenacre should not be made use of.

"Know anything about a Gildersleeve?" he asked with a laugh.

His companion smiled cheerfully, looking at once more interested.

"Gildersleeve! Why, yes, there was a boy of that name--no, no; it was
Gildersleeves, I remember. Any connexion with Quodling?"

"Can't say. The people I mean live in Stanhope Gardens. I don't know
anything about them."

"Like to?"

Gammon admitted that the name had a significance for him. A matter of
curiosity.

"No har