“No, no,” said Mr. Priestley testily. “We—we have already attended to that. Of course we have.”
“Very good, sir,” replied Barker with a perfectly blank face. He turned to go. Of course the bit of goods had no luggage, he’d known that all along; but he had felt that Mr. Priestley deserved the question. Fancy trying to take him in with silly tales about cousins and secretarial capacities! Barker felt almost hurt.
“Oh, and Barker!”
Barker turned back resignedly, but continuing to impersonate a boiled-egg. “Sir?”
Mr. Priestley was fumbling inside his waistcoat, his face exceedingly red. After a little preliminary manœuvring he extended his left arm; the wrist was encircled by an unmistakable handcuff, from which another handcuff dangled wistfully.
“A friend of mine,” said Mr. Priestley with considerable dignity, “fastened this foolish contrivance on my wrists. I have managed to get one free, but I cannot liberate the other. Will you please find some instrument to—er—to free me with?”
Barker looked at his employer’s wrist, and then at his employer’s red but dignified face. His lips twitched. His face suddenly took on a poached aspect, and then a positively scrambled one.
“Very good,” he began bravely, “s-s-s——” A hoarse cry suddenly escaped from him and he dived from the room. Further hoarse sounds were distinctly audible from the passage outside.
Mr. Priestley looked at the closed door with considerable interest. “Do you know,” he said with mild wonder, “I believe Barker actually laughed then. He must be human after all.”
Mr. Priestley was right. Barker was human. Exceedingly human thoughts were coursing through Barker’s mind as he busied himself in preparing the tea. But what was surprising Barker so very much was to find that Mr. Priestley was human too.