"Ashlock!" he began, and would have said more, but Aron held up a finger to his lips and grimaced at him.
I closed the door behind me with a bang and leaned against its panels. The steward swung round abruptly.
"And what stress of business keeps Mr. Ashlock so late from his bed?" I asked; and added pleasantly, "By the way, which of you is Mr. Ashlock?"
Seldom have I seen a man so completely taken aback, as my steward was then, and I was in the mind to profit by his confusion.
"And which of you is Mr.——" I continued, and came all at once to a dead stop. For the strangest suspicion flashed into my mind.
"I rode over to the farmer of Johnny Wood," explained the steward, and Aron's brows went up into his forehead, as well they might, "thinking that a word with him would expedite the business."
"It was a pity then," I returned, "that you kept Aron up so late writing a letter on that very subject."
I picked up the paper from the table and placed it in his hands. His face puckered for a second and then smoothed again. He read it through from beginning to end with the completest nonchalance.
"It will do very well," he said easily to Aron, and then turned to me with a smile. "The letter, of course, is a usual formality."
"Surely an unnecessary one," I insisted.