The Salt Of The Earth by Fred M. White

Max Cordy sank gracefully into a chair, hitched up his trousers and crossed his legs. Without asking permission of Adela he proceeded to light a cigarette. She could have boxed his ears, but behind her annoyance was a sense of amusement, perhaps even of admiration, at the little man who seemed so completely at home. He no longer looked like a boy, but like a young man on whom fortune has smiled.

"Well, it's like this, miss," he said, leaning forward confidentially. "We'll manage, for the present, at any rate, to keep out of the way of the police. The old 'un don't say much, but he knows he can trust me; in fact, I shouldn't dare do anything contrary to his instructions, because there are little episodes in my own past which--well, we won't pursue that. But when men choose to play their own game at the guv'nor's expense, somehow or another things never seem to go well with them again. Bless you! You needn't be afraid to speak candidly to me. I know nothing. I don't even know who you are, though I expect you are some relation to the guv'nor. I know he's a swell, right enough--connected with the peerage, and all the rest of it. Still--"