Before he could complete the sentence, Helen quickly clapped her hand over his mouth, and he had not yet recovered from his astonishment when she sprang to the door and opened it. The movement was so sudden and unexpected that a man who had been leaning against it, fell all his length into the room. It was François, the French valet.
"Excusez," he stammered, "I stumbled."
Kenneth stared first at the servant, then at his wife. Slowly he began to comprehend. Turning to the Frenchman he demanded angrily:
"What were you doing behind that door?"
"Excusez. I came back to ask monsieur how many shirts I pack."
Thoroughly aroused, the promoter pointed to the door. Sternly he said:
"Get out of here—you fool! If you don't know your business, I'll get some one else who does."
The Frenchman beat a rapid retreat. There was a malevolent look on his face, but he murmured respectfully enough:
"Oui, monsieur."
Kenneth turned to his wife.