"Precisely what are you here for?
If I'm to talk confidentially to you, you must talk in the same fashion to me." He stopped at a deserted stretch of the quay, and leaning against the wall which separated it from the sand, signed to Gilling to stop also.
"If we're going to have a quiet talk," he went on, "we'd better have it now--no one's about, and if any one sees us from a distance they'll only think we're, what we look to be--casual acquaintances.

Now--what is your job ?" Gilling looked about him and then perched himself on the wall.
"To watch Marston Greyle," he replied.
"They suspect him ?" asked Copplestone.
"Undoubtedly!" "Sir Cresswell Oliver said as much to me--but no more.

Have they said more to you ?" "The suspicion seemed to have originated with Petherton.

Petherton, in spite of his meek old-fashioned manners, is as sharp an old bird as you'll find in London! He fastened at once on what Bassett Oliver said to that fisherman, Ewbank.

A keen nose for a scent, Petherton's! And he 's determined to find out who it was that Bassett Oliver met in the United States under the name of Marston Greyle.