Rosabelle, who was duly informed of the loss of the original memorandum—for Lane was at bottom a very kind-hearted man and thought he could give the harassed girl this crumb of comfort without jeopardizing his future action—was very jubilant. She was also pleased that her uncle had appointed the detective to prosecute his investigations on his behalf. It would mean that Lane would not be hampered for money. She went over to Petersham the next day to tell her lover what had happened, and succeeded in infecting him with her own hopeful spirit. “And is Mr. Morrice still as bitter against me as ever, does he still believe as firmly in my guilt?” Rosabelle was not very sure of the financier’s real thoughts, but she gave the best answer she could. “You know, my dear old Dick, how obstinately he clings to an idea when he has once taken it into his head, but I fancy he is a bit shaken.” CHAPTER XII SIR GEORGE’S VALET In a back street behind the busy thoroughfare of Piccadilly there is a small, quiet-looking public-house which is a great rendezvous for male servants of a superior class. Thither in their leisure moments repair chauffeurs, butlers, valets in good service, to take a moderate amount of refreshment—such men seldom drink to excess—to chat over the news of the day, and very frequently to comment to each other on the characters and doings of their employers. On the evening following the day on which Lane had held that long conversation with Mr. Morrice recorded in the last chapter, two men sat in a corner of the snug little bar, drinking whisky and soda and talking together in confidential tones. The one party to the conversation had “gentleman’s gentleman” written all over his manner and appearance. The deferential voice, the trick of lowering his eyes when he spoke, proclaimed the valet who had served in good families. He had not the smug pomposity of the butler nor the breezy open-air demeanour of the driver. His companion was no other than our old friend the detective, who did not, like his companion, exhibit any signs of his calling, as far as appearance went; he might have been anything—respectable bookmaker, prosperous commercial traveller, well-to-do shopkeeper, whatever you pleased. In the pursuit of his professional duties Lane penetrated into several circles, outside the higher ones. These he left to Sellars principally, although he had two other occasional assistants of the same class, but less zealous and capable. His object in coming to this quiet little place to-night was to extend his acquaintance, one formed a few nights previously, with the man who was drinking now at his expense, who rejoiced in the popular name of Simmons and was valet to Sir George Clayton-Brookes. Lane was speaking in answer to some remarks just brought to a conclusion by the valet with the neat, respectable appearance and the low, deferential voice.