And if there's need, ring me up here, and let's know
what's happening, or if you want assistance."
There was no need for Millwaters to promise faithful compliance;
Portlethwaite knew well enough that to put him on a trail was equivalent
to putting a hound on the scent of a fox or a terrier to the run of a
rat. And that evening, Millwaters, who had clever ways of his own, made
himself well acquainted with the so-called Mr. Cave's appearance, and
assured himself that his man had gone peacefully to rest at his hotel,
and he had seen him again before breakfast next morning and had been in
quiet and unobtrusive attendance upon him when, later, he visited
Methley's office and subsequently walked away with Methley to the
police-court. And Millwaters was in the police-court, meditatively sucking
peppermint lozenges in a corner, when Mr. Cave was unexpectedly asked to
give evidence; he was there, too, until Mr. Cave left the court.
Cave's remarkable story ran off Millwaters' mentality like raindrops off
a steep roof. It mattered nothing to him. He did not care the value of a
brass button if Cave was Earl of Ellingham or Duke of Ditchmoor; his job
was to keep his eye on him, whoever he was.
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