They were born, lived, and moved in different
spheres unbridged by any common element or impulse.
"I think that I do bear it in mind, especially of late, Sir Robert,"
answered Alan Vernon slowly.
His partner threw a searching glance on him, for he felt that there was
meaning in the words, but only said:
"That's all right. My motor is outside and will take you to Fleet Street
in no time. Meanwhile you might tell them to telephone that you are
coming, and perhaps you will just look in when you get back. I haven't
got to go to the House to-night, so shall be here till dinner time, and
so, I think, will your cousin Haswell. Muzzle that old bulldog, Jackson,
somehow. No doubt he has his price like the rest of them, in meal or
malt, and you needn't stick at the figure. We don't want him hanging on
our throat for the next week or two."
Ten minutes later the splendid, two-thousand guinea motor brougham drew
up at the offices of the _Judge_ and the obsequious motor-footman bowed
Major Vernon through its rather grimy doorway. Within, a small boy in
a kind of box asked his business, and when he heard his name, said that
the "Guvnor" had sent down word that he was go up at once--third floor,
first to the right and second to the left.
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