During the rest of the evening at the Brays’ party Charley was lively and chatty. By an effort he seemed to have cast aside the feelings that oppressed him; and as they went back to the Bond-street hotel, Sir Philip felt quite hopeful, as it seemed to him that his son was indeed going to turn over the fresh leaf.

The next day Charley was off betimes to Branksome-street, where he was fortunate in getting an immediate interview with the great Mr Whittrick.

“You received my letter, posted two days since?” asked Charley.

“Same evening, sir,” said Mr Whittrick.

“You grant, I suppose, that it is as I said—Mr Maximilian Bray had been here before me?”

“My dear sir,” said Mr Whittrick, with a smile, “when a gentleman pays me certain fees for certain services, he has bought those services—they are his private property, and I have done with them—that is all finished. Do you understand? This is a private-inquiry office, and every client’s business is private. What I might divulge upon that pleasant old institution the rack, I can’t say—that being enough to make any man speak; but I believe I should do as many another man did.”

“What was that?” said Charley, smiling.

“Tell any lie the inquisitors wished,” said Mr Whittrick. “But as we have no rack nowadays, only moral thumbscrews, why, we are not forced to speak at all. No, sir; if there is such a person as Mr Maximilian Bray, or Cray, or Dray, or whatever his name is, and he came here on business, if we could, we did his business—we can’t always, you know—and there was an end of it; but if you want me to private inquire him, I’ll do it, just the same as if he came here and wanted me to private inquire you, I should do it—both together if it was necessary—though I don’t think I should say anything about visits here,” he said, with a slight twinkle of one of his dark eyes. “So now, my dear sir, what’s it to be? Shall we report to you upon this gentleman’s proceedings? Let me see,” he said, referring to the letter, “Bury-street, Saint James’s, isn’t it? Yes, quite right. Well, sir?”

“Yes,” said Charley; “and set about it at once.”

“How often, and how much, would you like to know?”

“How often!” cried Charley fiercely. “Every day—every hour if it is necessary. Write, send, telegraph to me. I want to know his every act and deed, till I tell you to leave off, if you can do it.”

“I think we can manage it, sir,” said Mr Whittrick, with a quiet smile. “Not quite so quickly as we did the last, though.”

“Then set about it at once,” said Charley. “It will be rather expensive work, sir,” said Mr Whittrick quietly.

Charley drew a blank cheque, signed by Sir Philip, from his pocket-book.

“What shall I fill this up for, Mr Whittrick?” said Charley.

“O, really, Mr Vining, I did not mean that,” said Mr Whittrick. “With some clients, of course, we make sure of the money before acting; but I am in your debt still. What I meant was, are you disposed to go to the expense of men, day after day, the whole of their time on your business?”

“Yes, certainly,” said Charley, taking pen and ink. “Shall I fill this up for a hundred pounds?”

“No,” said Mr Whittrick quietly: “fifty will do for the present. But stay—let me see: make it to bearer, sir—Mr Smith or bearer; it might not be pleasant to Sir Philip Vining to have it known at his banker’s that I am transacting family business. You see, sir, mine’s a very well-known name, and one that has been blown upon a good deal, and some people are rather fastidious about it. And to tell the truth, sir, I really am agent sometimes in rather unpleasant matters. Thank you—that will do, sir. You shall have some inf............