— IX —BENJAMIN RODWAY
Late one evening Mr. Smithers, alighting from a hansom at the door of No. 25 Dulverton Road, perceived that somebody else was entering the house in front of him. Mr. Smithers addressed him, jumping to conclusions.
“You are Mr. Rodway?”
“I am. And you are Mr. Smithers?”
“The same. Come into my room and have a smoke. As everybody’s gone to bed, we shan’t be keeping them up.” Mr. Rodway accepted the invitation. “Since we’re fellow-lodgers, it’s odd that you and I shouldn’t have met before; I’ve been here some time now.”
“As I’m out all day and night, it’s not so odd as it seems.”
“If you put it that way, I suppose it isn’t. But are your hours so irregular? I thought you were at the bank. I believe I’ve seen you there.”
“I was.”
“Was? Have you left?”
“Sacked – ki
