"Well, sir"--Bottles scratched his scarlet poll--"he don't seem to me to be quite your style. There ain't no Buffalo Bill, Pathfinder business about him. If you don't mind my saying so, sir, I don't think it's cricket his winning all that foreign lady's jewellery at cards, nohow." "That's none of your business, Bottles." "Sorry, sir. But I can't help seeing and thinking when I do see. And what's a swell like him doing down here, I'd like to know?" "You'd better ask him." "And get a clip on the ears for my pains, sir. Not me. Though I dessay he ain't the cove to hit out." "Too kind-hearted?" asked Hench, amused. "Well," said Bottles slowly, "I shouldn't use them words myself. Mr. Spruce is the kind of feller who'd trip you up when you wasn't looking; but I don't think he'd meet any one's eye straight. Seems to me as he might have done a glide, if you take me, sir." "I don't take you, Bottles?" "Bolted, mizzled, cut away," explained the boy earnestly. "Swells don't come to this place for fun." "Don't be a fool, boy. Mr. Spruce has only come here to gather material for a book he is writing." "Oh, he says that, do he, sir? Well, I don't think! Ho! I'll keep my eye on all the illustrated papers and see if his picture's in 'em." "Why should his picture be in them?" Bottles shook his head mysteriously and skipped lightly towards the door. He saw that Hench did not approve of his groundless suspicions, so made up his mind to say no more. All the same, having got the idea that Spruce had "done something" into his head, which came from reading too many penny-dreadful romances, he made up his mind to watch the Nut. This he did not tell his hero lest he should be forbidden to "follow the trail," as he put it. Therefore he held his tongue and removed himself swiftly.