“You put this—this monstrosity—out for me to wear?” in awful tones.
Jim eyed the waistcoat gloomily and nodded.
“Yes, sir.”
“Did I not specify cream ground?”
“Yes, sir. I thought—I thought that ’twas cream!”
“My good friend, it is—it is—I cannot say what it is. And pea-green!” he shuddered. “Remove it.”
Jim hurried forward and disposed of the offending garment.
“And bring me the broidered satin. Yes, that is it. It is particularly pleasing to the eye.”
“Yes, sir,” agreed the abashed Jim.
“You are excused this time,” added my lord, with a twinkle in his eye. “What are our two friends doing?”
Salter went back to the window.
“They’ve gone into the house, sir. No, here’s the spider gentleman! He do seem in a hurry, your honour!”
“Ah!” murmured his lordship. “You may assist me into this coat. Thanks.”
With no little difficulty, my lord managed to enter into the fine satin garment, which, when on, seemed moulded to his back, so excellently did it fit. He shook out his ruffles and slipped the emerald ring on to his finger with a slight frown.
“I believe I shall remain here some few days,” he remarked presently. “To—ah—allay suspicion.” He looked across at his man as he spoke, through his lashes.
It was not in Jim’s nature to inquire into his master’s affairs, much less to be surprised at anything he might do or say. He was content to receive and promptly execute his orders, and to worship Carstares with a dog-like devotion, following blindly in his wake, happy as long as he might serve him.
Carstares had found him in France, very down upon his luck, having been discharged from the service of
