Here the telephone bell intervened.
“Excuse me,” said Forsyth. “Yes? . . . Very well. Mr. Maple’s out, isn’t he? . . . Then show them into his room and ask them to wait.”
As he replaced the receiver—
“What the devil am I to do?” said Captain Festival.
“Nothing,” said Forsyth.
“Nothing?”
“Nothing.”
“Oh, the man’s mad,” wailed Giles. “I’ve infected him.”
“As you and your wife’s trustee, I say that you can do nothing. You’ve covenanted not to molest. Your hands are tied. And now. . . .”
He rose to his feet.