“See here!” he admonished her cruelly. “You get away downstairs, mother!”
And he disappeared into the bedroom with his vile and helpless victim.
A moment later he popped his head out of the door. Constance was disobeying him. He stepped into the passage and shut the door so that Cyril should not hear.
“Now please do as I tell you,” he hissed at his wife. “Don’t let’s have a scene, please.”
She descended, slowly, weeping. And Mr. Povey retired again to the place of execution.
Amy nearly fell on the top of Constance with a final tray of things from the drawing-room. And Constance had to tell the girl that Cyril was found. Somehow she could not resist the instinct to tell her also that the master had the affair in hand. Amy then wept.
After about an hour Mr. Povey at last reappeared. Constance was trying to count silver teaspoons in the parlour.
“He’s in bed now,” said Mr. Povey, with a magnificent attempt to be nonchalant. “You mustn’t go near him.”
“But have you washed him?” Constance whimpered.
“I’ve washed him,” replied the astonishing Mr. Povey.