Polkenhorne knows him too.'
'Does he? I haven't seen Polkenhorne for a long time.'
'You don't care to talk about the business? Perhaps you'd better
introduce me to Mr. Percival.'
'By the name of Camden?'
'Hang it! I may as well tell you at once. Snowdon is my own name.'
'Indeed? And how am I to be sure of that?'
'Come and see me where I'm living, in Clerkenwell Close, and then
make inquiries of my father, in Hanover Street, Islington. There's
no reason now for keeping up the old name--a little affair--all
put right. But the fact is, I'd as soon find out what this business
is with your office without my father knowing. I have reasons;
shouldn't mind talking them over with you, if you can give me the
information I want.'
'I can do that,' replied Scawthorne with a smile. 'If you are J. J.
Snowdon, you are requested to communicate with Michael Snowdon--
that's all.'
'Oh! but I _have_ communicated with him, and he's nothing particular
to say to me, as far as I can see.'
Scawthorne sipped at his glass, gave a stroke to each side of his
moustache, and seemed to reflect.
'You were coming to ask Mr. Percival privately for information?'
'That's just it.
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