'Merely to keep one's hand in,' thought Merton, 'in the present
disappointing slackness of business, I'll try to see Jephson. I don't
like or trust him. I don't think he is the man for Miss Willoughby. So,
if he ousts the doctor, and catches the heiress, why "there was more lost
at Shirramuir," as Logan says.'

Merton managed to go up to Oxford, and called on Jephson. He found him
anxious about a good, quiet, cheap place for study.

'Do you fish?' asked Merton.

'When I get the chance,' said Jephson.

He was a dark, rather clumsy, but not unprepossessing young don, with a
very slight squint.

'If you fish did you ever try the Perch--I mean an inn, not the fish of
the same name--at Walton-on-Dove? A pretty quiet place, two miles of
water, local history perhaps interesting. It is not very far from
Tutbury, where Queen Mary was kept, I think.'

'It sounds well,' said Jephson; 'I'll write to the landlord and ask about
terms.'

'You could not do better,' said Merton, and he took his leave.

'Now, am I,' thought Merton as he walked down the Broad, 'to put Jephson
up to it? If I don't, of course I can't "reap the benefit of one single
pin" for the Society: Jephson not being a member. But the money, anyhow,
would come from that old harpy out of the girl's estate. _Olet_! I