man; at others your speech is, well, illiterate."

"Well, sir, it's a sort of mixture of my mother; she was class, the
blighter who come after my father, and the Board School--"

"Of course! What they call the educational ladder! That explains it. By
the way, I'm thinking of changing our doctor."

"Good job, too. I 'ate that Irechester. Stares at you, that chap does."

"Does he stare at your eyes?'" asked Beaumaroy thoughtfully.

"I don't know that he does at my eyes particularly. Nothing wrong with
'em, is there?" The Sergeant sounded rather truculent.

"Never mind that; but I fancied he stared at Mr. Saffron's. And I've read
somewhere, in some book or other, that doctors can tell, or guess, by the
eyes. Well, that's only an idea. How does a lady doctor appeal to you,
Sergeant?"

"I should be shy," said the Sergeant, grinning.

"Vulgar! vulgar!" Beaumaroy murmured.

"That Dr. Mary Arkroyd?"

"I had thought of her."

"She ought to be fair easy to kid. You 'ave notions sometimes, sir."

Beaumaroy stretched out his legs, debonnair, well-rounded legs, to the
seducing blaze of oak logs.

"I haven't really a care in the world," he said.

The Sergeant's reply, or comment, had a disconcerting ring. "And you're
sure of 'Eaven? That's what the bloke always says to the 'angman."

"I've no intention of being a murderer, Sergeant." Beaumaroy's eyebrows
were raised in gentle protest.

"Once you're in with a job, you never know," his retainer observed
darkly.

Beaumaroy laughed. "Oh, go to the devil! and mix me another whisky." Yet
a vague uneasiness showed itself on his face; he looked across the room
at the evil-shaped man handling the bottles in the cupboard. He made one
queer, restless movement of his arms, as though to free himself. Then,
in a moment, he sprang from his chair, a glad kindly smile illuminating
his face; he bowed in a very courtly fashion, exclaiming, "Ah! here you
are, sir? And all well, I hope?"

Mr. Saffron had entered from the door leading to the Tower, carefully
closing it after him. Hooper's hand went up to his forehead in the ghost
of a military salute, but a sneering smile persisted on his lips. The
only notice Mr. Saffron took of him was a jerk of the head towards the
passage, an abrupt and ungracious dismissal, which, however, the Sergeant
silently accepted and stumped out. The greeting reserved for Beaumaroy
was vastly different. Beaumaroy's own cordiality was more than
reciprocat