CHAPTER VII
The Cap on the Stairs
After breakfast, when they were working together in the drawing-room, Easton, desiring to do Owen a good turn, thought he would put him on his guard, and repeated to him in a whisper the substance of the conversation he had held with Crass concerning him.
'Of course, you needn't mention that I told you, Frank,' he said, 'but I thought I ought to let you know. You can take it from me, Crass ain't no friend of yours.'
'I've known that for a long time, mate,' replied Owen. 'Thanks for telling me, all the same.'
'The bloody rotter's no friend of mine either, or anyone else's, for that matter,' Easton continued, 'but of course it doesn't do to fall out with 'im, because you never know what he'd go and say to old 'Unter.'
'Of course we all know what's the matter with 'im as far as you're concerned,' Easton went on; 'he don't like 'avin' anyone on the firm wot knows more about the work than 'e does 'imself—thinks 'e might get worked out of 'is job.'
Owen laughed bitterly.
'He needn't be afraid of me on that account. I wouldn't have his job if it were offered to me.'
'But 'e don't think so,' replied Easton, 'and that's why 'e's got 'is knife into you.'
'I believe that what he said about Hunter is true enough,' said Owen. 'Every time he comes here he tries to goad me into doing or saying something that would give him an excuse to tell me to clear out. I might have done it before now if I had not guessed what he was after, and been on my guard.'
Meantime, Crass, in the kitchen, had resumed his seat by the fire with the purpose of finishing his pipe of tobacco. Presently he took out his pocket book and began to write in it with a piece of blacklead pencil, and, having torn out the
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