“Yes. And I have found out something more than that. I have struck up an acquaintance with him, and he does not know me; though he ought, for he broke my arm last winter; though perhaps he never saw my face. But I wore moustaches and whiskers then, and a green shade through a little kick from a horse. I know of a gambling-club he goes to, and there I meet him every night. I have put him up to a trick or two; and we are to rehearse them at his rooms to-morrow night. He is very close; but I shall gradually worm him. But I must be supplied with cash, to do it.” “We will try to arrange about that,” said my uncle; “and of course you can return it, and perhaps win some more. Gambling is a thing I detest with all my heart; and no one can ever win by it, in the end. If he did, it would do him no good. But still, it is right that the rogues who live by it should be robbed. If you pick up a pound or two there, all the better. I think you have done wonders, Tonks. But I suppose you have discovered nothing about—about the lady.” “Not a single syllable yet,” he answered, looking at me, as he caught my expression; “but I believe I shall, if I have my time. What I have done is a great deal better than ‘shadowing’ the man, as they call it. I might do that for months, and be no wiser. But I am obliged to be very careful. So many people know me. I can never go near him where the racing people are. And I have had one very narrow shave already. But there is another thing you may be glad to know. Bulwrag is beginning to make up to a rich lady. He is not sweet upon her; but it seems that he must do it.” “The thief!” exclaimed my uncle; “we must never allow that. The scamp would break her heart. I am determined to prevent it. I shall let her know my opinion of him. I know all the villainous lot too well. Don’t be excited, Tonks. I can’t stand that. Give me her name and address; and I will go with the van myself, if necessary. I should think myself a party to it, if I did not stop it. She will soon see what I am.” “I was going to tell you, but now I had better not,” Tony Tonks answered with a sly dry smile; “what good could you do, Mr. Orchardson? The lady would only laugh at you, even if she deigned to see you.” “Nobody ever laughs at me. And as for deigning to see me,—why, the Queen herself would do it, the way I should put it.” “Well, you have a good opinion of yourself. But you must keep quiet in this matter, unless you want to spoil my little game. The lady is the Lady Clara Voucher, daughter of the Earl of Clerinhouse, a very great heiress, and not bad looking. What more he can want is a puzzle to me. But it goes against the grain with him.” “He shall never have her; he may take his oath of that,” said my uncle, bringing down his hand upon his knee, as if he were the father of the peerage. “Well, this is a curious affair,” thought I; “how can he be taking to anybody else, after having cast his eyes on Kitty?” CHAPTER XLVIII. THE DUCHESS.