Clearly Tait was by no means so satisfied with Hilliston as Claude. CHAPTER XV. A POPULAR AUTHOR. BEARING in mind that the character of Hilliston had been rehabilitated by Mrs. Bezel, it was natural that Claude should feel somewhat annoyed at the persistent mistrust manifested toward that gentleman by Tait. However, he had no time to explain or expostulate at the present moment; and moreover, as he knew that the little man was assisting him in this difficult case out of pure friendship, he did not deem it politic to comment on what was assuredly an unfounded prejudice. Tait was singular in his judgments, stubborn in his opinions; so Claude, unwilling to risk the loss of his coadjutor, wisely held his peace. His astute companion guessed these thoughts, for in place of further remarking on the inexplicable presence of Hilliston, he turned the conversation toward the man they were about to see. "Queer thing, isn't it?" he said, as they ascended the stairs. "Linton is the son of the vicar of Thorston." "Ah! That no doubt accounts for his intimate knowledge of the locality. Do you know him?" "Of course I do--as Frank Linton; but I had no idea that he was John Parver." "Why did he assume a _nom de plume_?" Tait shrugged his shoulders. "Paternal prejudice, I believe," he said carelessly. "Mr. Linton does not approve of sensational novels, and, moreover, wishes his son to be a lawyer, not a literary man. Young Frank is in a solicitor's office in Lincoln's Inn Fields, and he employed his evenings in writing 'A Whim of Fate.' He published it under the name of 'John Parver,' so as to hoodwink his father, but now that he has scored a success I have no doubt he will confess." "Do you think we will learn anything from him?" "We will learn all we wish to know as to where he obtained his material. The young man's head is turned, and by playing on his vanity we may find out the truth." "His vanity may lead him to conceal the fact that he took the plot from real life." "I don't think so. I know the boy well, and he is a great babbler. No one is more astonished than I at learning that he is the celebrated John Parver. I didn't think he had the brains to produce so clever a book." "It is clever!" assented Claude absently. "Of course it is; much cleverer than its author," retorted Tait dryly; "or rather, I should say, its supposed author, for I verily believed Jenny Paynton helped him to write the book." "Who is Jenny Paynton?" "A very nice girl who lives at Thorston. She is twice as clever as this lad, and they are both great on literary matters. But I'll tell you all about this later on, for here is Linton."