Towards the end Gammon grew silent and meditative.
He kept gazing at the windows as if for aid in some
calculation. When Polly at last threw down her
cheese-knife, glowing with the thought that she had
dined well at somebody else’s expense, he leaned
forward on the table, looked her in the eyes, and
began a momentous dialogue.
GAMMON THE CRAFTY
“What did you want to do such a silly thing
as that for?”
Polly stared in astonishment.
“What d’you mean?”
“Why did you let out to Mrs. Clover what you
knew?”
The girl’s colour deepened by a shade (it was
already rich), and her eyes grew alarmed, suspicious,
watchful.
“I didn’t let out what I knew,”
she answered rather confused.
It was Gammon’s turn to watch keenly.
“Not all, of course not,” he remarked
slyly. “But why couldn’t you keep
it to yourself that you’d met him?”
Polly’s eyes wandered. Gammon smiled with
satisfaction.
“I’d have kept that to myself,”
he said in a friendly way. “I know how
it was, of course; you got riled and came out with
it. A great pity. She had all but forgot
him; now she’ll never rest till she’s
found him out. And you might have seen how much
more to your advantage it was to keep a thing like
that quiet.”
Unwonted mental disturbance was playing tricks with
Polly’s complexion. She evidently feared
to compromise herself, and at the same time desired
to know all that was in her companion’s mind.
“What business is it of yours?” was the
crude phrase that at length fell from her lips, uttered
half-heartedly, between resentment and jesting.
“Well, there’s the point,” replied
Gammon, with a laugh. “Queer thing, but
it just happens to be particular business of mine.”
Polly stared. He nodded.
“There’s such a thing, Polly, as going
halves in a secret. I’ve been wondering
these last few days whether I should tell you or not.
But we’re getting on so well together—eh?
Better than I expected, for one. I shouldn’t
feel I was doing right, Polly, if I took any advantage
of you.”
She was growing excited. Her wiles had given
way before superior stratagem, and perhaps before
something in herself that played traitor.
“You mean you know about him?” she asked,
almost confidentially.
“Not all I want to—yet. He’s
a sharp customer. But considerably more than
you do, Polly, my dear.”
“I don’t believe you!”
“That has nothing to do with it. Suppose
you ask me a question or two. I might be able
to tell you something you would like to know.”
It was said, of course, without any suspicion of the
real state of things; but Gammon saw at once that
he had excited an eager curiosity.
“You know where he is, then?” asked Polly.
“Well—we’ll say so.”
