"All I can make of it is that that loose-shouldered chap Roden is a
scoundrel," he said bluntly, from behind a great cigar, "and wants
thumping. Now, if there's anything in that line--"
"No; but you must not tell him so," interrupted Cornish. "I wish to
goodness I could make you understand that cunning can only be met by
cunning, not by thumps, in these degenerate days. Old Wade has taken us
by the hand, as I tell you. They come to town, by the way, to-morrow,
and will be in Eaton Square for the rest of the season. He says that it
is his business to meet the low cunning of the small solicitors and the
noble army of company promoters, and it seems that he knows exactly
what to do. At any rate, it is not expedient to thump Roden."
Major White shrugged his shoulders with much silent wisdom. He
believed, it appeared, in thumps in face of any evidence in favour of
milder methods.
"Deuced sorry for that girl," he said.
Cornish was lighting a cigarette. "What girl?" he asked quietly.
"Miss Roden, chap's sister. She knows her brother is a dark horse, but
she wouldn't admit it, not if you were to kill her for it. Women"--the
major paused in his great wisdom--"women are a rum lot."
Which, assuredly, no one is prepared to deny.
Cornish glanced at his companion through the cigarette smoke, and said
nothing.
"However," continued the major, "I am at your service. Let us have the
orders.
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