Then he
went to the front door, and glanced up at the roof.
"It's all right," said the keeper of the house, following him. "She ain't
a-going to get away. She ain't just very well, and she's a-lying down."
"You tell her, with my regards," said Gager, "that she needn't be a bit
the worse because of me." The man looked at him suspiciously. "You tell
her what I say. And tell her, too, the quicker the better. She has a
gentleman a-looking after her, I daresay. Perhaps I'd better be off before
he comes." The message was taken up to the lady, and Gager again seated
himself in the little parlour.
We are often told that all is fair in love and war, and perhaps the
operation on which Mr. Gager was now intent may be regarded as warlike.
But he now took advantage of a certain softness in the character of the
lady whom he wished to meet, which hardly seems to be justifiable even in
a policeman. When Lizzie's tall footman had been in trouble about the
necklace, a photograph had been taken from him which had not been restored
to him. This was a portrait of Patience Crabstick, which she, poor girl,
in a tender moment, had given to him who, had not things gone roughly with
them, was to have been her lover.
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