"What have you got to tell me?" he asked suddenly.
The blind crashed down to its full length as the butler's hand dropped the retaining string. The rigid control of domestic service was snapped; he was a frightened man speaking to his equal.
"This is a strange illness of Mr. Francis's," he said.
The doctor was alive to seize every chance.
"How strange?" he asked. "Mr. Francis has had these attacks before."
"I sent for the doctor from Didcot, as soon as it occurred, unknown to him or Sanders," said Templeton, "but he was not allowed to see him. Why is that, sir? There was Sanders telegraphing for his lordship, and saying that Mr. Francis was dying, yet refusing to let the doctor see him. But perhaps he was expecting you, sir."
"He does not know I am here, Templeton, nor must he know. Look to that; see that the servants do not tell Sanders I am here. Now, what do you mean? You think Mr. Francis is not ill at all."
"Does a man in the jaws of death, I may say, play the flute?" asked the butler.
"Play the flute?"