‘That’s no’ wha’ I mean,’ he went on. ‘And wha’s more—you know it. Who is it addrezzes you, madame?’
‘Why,’ I humoured him, ‘it’s you, of course—Diaz.’
There was the sound of a door opening on one of the lower storeys, and I hoped I had pacified him, and that he would enter; but I was mistaken. He stamped his foot furiously on the landing.
‘Diaz!’ he protested, shouting. ‘Who dares call me Diaz? Wha’s my full name?’
‘Emilio Diaz,’ I murmured meekly.
‘That’s better,’ he grumbled. ‘What am I?’
I hesitated.
‘Wha’ am I?’ he roared; and his voice went up and down the echoing staircase. ‘I won’t put foot ev’n on doormat till I’m told wha’ I am here.’
‘You are the—the master,’ I said. ‘But do come in.’
‘The mas’r! Mas’r of wha’?’