Watkins complied with an air of outraged decorum.
There was a knock on the door.
"Who's that?" said Hugh.
"It should be 'Awkins with the quick-lime, your ludship," answered Watkins, hastily pushing back his chair. "'E had to 'ave it brought from the stables."
"Take it from him, Watty—and then come back here and finish your breakfast."
"Why quick-lime?" I asked, as Watkins received a bulky, whitish-powdered sack through the half-opened door.
"We can't very well dig a grave in stone," was Nikka's grim comment.
Watkins dropped the sack on the hearth, and returned to his breakfast. He wanted very much to quit with one cup of coffee, but Hugh ordered him back and insisted that a man who had work to do required not less than four slices of toast and three eggs.
"Bloated I'll be, your ludship," protested the valet. "Oh, if you will 'ave it!"
"I will," said Hugh. "You are going to be on guard here, Watty, while we are gone. Have you your automatic? Right O! Don't let anybody in."