Thorpe presently made an excuse for taking Kervick apart. “I brought this old jackass here for a purpose,” he said in low, gravely mandatory tones. “He thinks he's got an appointment at 5:30 this afternoon--but he's wrong. He hasn't. He's not going to have any appointment at all--for a long time yet. I want you to get him drunk, there where he sits, and then take him away with you, and get him drunker still, and then take a train with him somewhere--any station but Charing Cross or that line--and I don't care where you land with him--Scotland or Ireland or France--whatever you like. Here's some money for you--and you can write to me for more. I don't care what you say to him--make up any yarn you like--only keep him pacified, and keep him away from London, and don't let a living soul talk to him--till I give you the word. You'll let me know where you are. I'll get away now--and mind, General, a good deal depends on the way you please me in this thing.”
The soldier's richly-florid face and intent, bulging blue eyes expressed vivid comprehension. He nodded with eloquence as he slipped the notes into his trousers pocket. “Absolutely,” he murmured with martial brevity, from under his white, tight moustache.
With only a vague word or two of meaningless explanation to Tavender, Thorpe took his departure, and walked back to the hotel. From what he had learned and surmised, it was not difficult to put the pieces of the puzzle together. This ridiculous old fool, he remembered now, had reproached himself, when he was in England before, for his uncivil neglect of his brother-in-law. By some absurd chance, this damned brother-in-law happened to be Gafferson. It was clear enough that, when he returned to Mexico, Tavender had written to Gafferson, explaining the unexpected pressure of business which had taken up all his time in England. Probably he had been idiot enough to relate what he of course regarded as the most wonderful piece of good news--how the worthless concession he had been deluded into buying had been bought back from him. As likely as not he had even identified the concession, and given Thorpe's name as that of the man who had first impoverished and then mysteriously enriched him. At all events, he had clearly mentioned that he had a commission to report upon the Rubber Consols property, and had said enough else to create the impression that there were criminal secrets connected with its sale to the London Company. The rest was easy. Gafferson, knowing Lord Plowden's relation to the Company, had shown him Tavender's letter. Lord Plowden, meditating upon it, had seen a way to be nasty--and had vindictively plunged into it. He had brought Tavender from Mexico to London, to use him as a weapon. All this was as obvious as the nose on one's face.