The Major gave a profound sigh as he looked round the room. But the
melancholy shadow on his face changed into a grim smile, as he glanced
from the tapestried walls and curtained window, with a great Indian jar
of hothouse flowers standing upon an inlaid table before it, and filling
the room with a faint perfume of jasmine and almond, to the figure of
Henry Dunbar.
"It's comfortable," said Major Vernon; "to say the least of it, it's
very comfortable. And with a balance of half a million or so at one's
banker's, or in one's own bank--which is better still perhaps--one is
not so badly off, eh, Mr. Dunbar?"
"Sit down and eat one of those birds," answered the banker. "I'll talk
to you by-and-by."
The Major obeyed his friend; he unwound three or four yards of dingy
woollen stuff from his scraggy throat, turned down the poodle collar,
pulled his chair close to the table, squared his brows, and began
business. He made very light of a brace of partridges and a bottle of
sparkling Moselle.
When the table had been cleared, and the two men left alone together,
Major Vernon stretched his long legs upon the hearth-rug, plunged his
hands deep down in his trousers' pockets, and gave a sigh of
satisfaction.
"And now," said Mr. Dunbar, filling his glass from the starry crystal
claret-jug, "what is it that you want to say to me, Stephen Vallance, or
Major Vernon, or whatever ridiculous name you may call yourself--what is
it you've got to say?"
"I'll tell you that in a very few words," answered the Major, quietly;
"I want to talk to you about the man who was murdered at Winchester some
months ago.
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