He shook his head--no, no, no.

He had not seen Kedsty.

He knew nothing about him.

I can do nothing with him, Kent." He had dropped his "sirs," also his servant-like servility.

He helped to smoke Kent's cigars with the intimacy of proprietorship, and with offensive freedom called him "Kent." He spoke of the Inspector as "Kedsty," and of Father Layonne as "the little preacher." He swelled perceptibly, and Kent knew that each hour of that swelling added to his own danger.
He believed that Mercer was talking.