For the lifting of an
eyebrow in the drawing-rooms becomes warrant for a tip that runs very
swiftly below stairs.
That afternoon, alone in his office, Neergard remembered Gerald. And for
the first time he understood the mistake of making an enemy out of what
he had known only as a friendly fool.
But it was a detail, after all--merely a slight error in assuming too
early an arrogance he could have afforded to wait for. He had waited a
long, long while for some things.
As for Fane, he had him locked up with his short account. No doubt he'd
hear from the Orchils through the Fanes. However, to clinch the matter,
he thought he might as well stop in to see Ruthven. A plain word or two
to Ruthven indicating his own wishes--perhaps outlining his policy
concerning the future house of Neergard--might as well be delivered now
as later.
So that afternoon he took a hansom at Broad and Wall streets and rolled
smoothly uptown, not seriously concerned, but willing to have a brief
understanding with Ruthven on one or two subjects.
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