"Back went Daisy to her post in the hall. A little while after this, the front doorbell rang. It was a bookie named MacDonald, asking to see Mr. Hubert Fane. Daisy tried to send him away, but he wasn't having any. So down she went to the sitting room, and fetched out Mr. Hubert Fane."
Masters paused, clearing his throat.
The late afternoon sun blazed on his forehead. To
Courtney, the scene last night unfolded in vivid colors, even though he had not seen it.
"Mr. Hubert Fane came out, and spoke to the bookie on the front steps. They were arguing about something — Daisy could see 'em all the time — while Daisy remained where she was, in the hall, with one ear on the door."
H.M., who had been breathing as though in sleep under the hat, here opened one eye.
"Hold on, son! Wasn't she afraid old Hubert might get shirty if he saw her hangin' about obviously listening at door?"
Masters shook his head.
"No. She says she knew he wouldn't say anything to her. She says he never does. She says—" Masters' tone took on a note of heavy mimicry—"she says he's 'such a dear old gentleman.' "
"Uh-huh. Go on."