Vernon's recollections carried him back to a Berkshire village of which his father had been the squire. Mrs. Bedge, the widow of a Levantine merchant, had taken a house in the neighbourhood, and there had settled with her nephew, Constantine Maunders. It seemed that her sister had married a naturalised Greek, hence the boy's Christian name. As the parents were dead, Mrs. Bedge, being without offspring, had adopted the orphan. From what Vernon remembered, Maunders had always been a handsome and charming little boy, who usually got his own way by sheer amiability and good looks. But he had inherited more from his Greek father than a classical face and a Christian name which smacked of old Constantinople, for he was crafty and clever, and utterly without moral principle. He could conceal his feelings admirably, he could scheme for his wants very dexterously, and he told a lie or the truth with the utmost impartiality when either suited the end to be gained. Posing as an innocent angel-child, he deceived everyone, and although outwardly he appeared to be an unsophisticated babe, he was in reality a little monster of egotism. Even when they were children together, Vernon--from bitter experience--had always mistrusted Constantine, and had judged his character more accurately than grown-up people. Those were invariably taken in by the brat's cherubic aspect.
At Eton, Constantine fared less happily. He was ten years of age when his aunt sent him there, and, as Vernon then was fifteen, she had asked him to look after her darling. But all Vernon's chivalry could not save Constantine from well-deserved kicks and thrashings. Schoolboys are not to be taken in by angel-children, so Constantine did not have a happy time. However, he was so diplomatic and unscrupulous that he managed to scramble through school life fairly well. At Oxford--whither he went some years after Vernon--he got on better, and became a general favourite because of his general pliancy of disposition. By means of that same pliancy he usually secured his selfish ends, under a guise of consistent amiability. Being quick-brained and clever, if somewhat shallow, he secured his degree, and left the University with an excellent character. Since then he had been a man about town, supported by his aunt's money. Mrs. Bedge had settled in London at Constantine's request, and could refuse him nothing. Yet--as Vernon judged from what the young man had said--even Mrs. Bedge's generosity could not supply Maunders with sufficient money to gratify the selfish desire he had always had for pleasure. Only the income of a Rothschild could have entirely satisfied his cravings for the delights of existence.
Vernon had been less lucky in life. His father had speculated rashly, and three years prior to the meeting of the young men at the Athenian Club had died a comparative pauper. Thrown on his own resources and without a profession, Vernon had utilised his observant and logical faculties to set up in private practice as a detective. For two years he had carried on the trade with success and without having been found out. But now that Constantine had come on the scene, Vernon felt that there would be trouble. Of course, by taking him as a partner an exposure could be avoided, but only temporarily. Maunders was so ready to make mischief that Vernon felt he would take all he could get out of the business, and when prosperous by marriage with Ida Dimsdale, would not hesitate to tell the truth. The sole safeguard lay in the fact that, being tarred with the same brush, Maunders for his own social sake might hold his tongue. He was always clever enough to avoid the publication of any facts to his disadvantage. It really seemed, on these grounds, that it would be judicious to admit him as a partner. But Vernon shivered at the prospect. At the best, such a business as he was engaged in, was a delicate one and decidedly unpopular. With Maunders' unscrupulous methods it might degenerate into a series of shady transactions.
"But I'll take the month and think it over," thought Vernon, when he had finished his coffee and cigarette. "Much may happen in thirty days which may enable me to get out of the difficulty." Then he took out his watch and noted that it was ten o'clock. "Just time to see Dimsdale," he yawned.
When putting on his light overcoat in the vestibulum, Vernon thought it was a strange coincidence that Maunders should have mentioned--incidentally, of course--the name of the man with whom he had an appointment at half-past ten o'clock. Earlier in the day Vernon had received a pressing note asking him to meet the writer at Colonel Towton's chambers, Ralph Street, St. James's, at that hour. So, as a matter of fact, two names pertinent to the situation had been mentioned, Dimsdale and Towton. Vernon wondered as he walked along Pall Mall what the reason could be. He did not believe in coincidence, and had sufficient experience of life to doubt the existence of chance, so the mention of the names taken in conjunction with the appointment must point to some problem being worked out. Vernon believed--as every thoughtful man must believe--that everything was worked out in the unseen world before it became a factor in the visible plane, and he was quite prepared to find, on this assumption, that the meeting with Dimsdale in Towton's chambers was more important than it appeared to be on the surface. Subsequent events proved that he was right in his conjecture.
Meanwhile--as he was a one-thing-at-a-time man--he sauntered leisurely along towards his destination, wondering what Dimsdale wished to see him about. The ex-police-commissioner was one of the very few people who knew of the business in Covent Garden. Dimsdale had been a life-long friend of Vernon's father, and had welcomed the young man with open arms to his home. It was odd that Vernon had not fallen in love with Ida, as nothing would have pleased Dimsdale better than to have given his daughter and her money to his old friend's son. But Fortune in her freakish way had decided that Vernon should fall in love with Lucy Corsoon, where every obstacle would be placed in the way of a successful wooing, so Ida and Arthur had settled contentedly down into a brother and sister relationship.
Dimsdale was annoyed that his pet project of a marriage could not come to pass, but there was no help for it, as he could not govern the young man's affections. Also he was annoyed because Vernon, when the death of his father occurred, would not let the elder man assist him. However, he told him his plans about the private inquiry office, and although the ex-police commissioner did not wholly approve, he judged from his knowledge of the young man's detective powers, that it was the best use he could put his talents to. More than this, he managed to bring him clients, and to spread the fame of Nemo by dexterous allusions. Vernon therefore was doing very well in the line he had struck out for himself, and felt duly grateful to Dimsdale for his assistance. He thought as he walked along Ralph Street that probably the old gentleman had found him a fresh client. But it was odd that Colonel Towton's chambers should have been chosen as the meeting place, since Dimsdale belonged to several clubs. And the matter, whatever it was, must be very important, else Dimsdale would have waited until Vernon paid his weekly visit to the Hampstead bungalow.
It was only a quarter-past ten o'clock when Vernon arrived, and he thought that he would have to wait. But Towton's servant intimated that Mr. Dimsdale was watching for his visitor in the Colonel's particular sanctum, and ushered the young man into the room, after relieving him of his coat and hat. The Colonel himself did not appear to be present, but Martin Dimsdale was smoking in a deep arm-chair, and jumped up in his boyish way to shake hands warmly. He always had a great regard for Arthur Vernon.
The room was an ordinary apartment, comfortably furnished, but in a strictly bachelor fashion. The scheme of colour was deep green and deep red, so that it appeared somewhat sombre. Trophies of Towton's sporting instincts in the shape of skins and heads appeared on the walls and on the floor. There were many military portraits and groups about, reminiscent of the Colonel's army life. The two windows were open and the curtains were pulled back, so that the room was fairly cool, while on the table stood a syphon, some glasses and a decanter of whisky, together with a box of cigars. These were at Mr. Dimsdale's elbow. He had evidently been passing the time in smoking and drinking pending his young friend's arrival.
"I'm glad to see you, boy," said the ex-police commissioner, pointing to a chair. "Sit down and make yourself at home. Towton gives me full permission to play in this yard. Have a peg and a cigar."
"Not too strong, please," warned Vernon, accepting a cigar and sinking into the indicated chair. "I haven't so steady a head as yours."
"It's a cleverer head," said Dimsdale, squirting in the potash. "Else I should not have asked you to meet me here--Nemo."