“It’s too awful!”
“But you will hold your tongue about the other two, won’t you, Chips?”
“If you like.”
“You promise?”
“Very well. I promise.”
But Chips Carpenter was reckoning without Mr. Heriot, a magnificent schoolmaster, but a Grand Inquisitor at getting things out of fellows when he liked. To his credit, he never did like a task which some schoolmasters seem to enjoy; but he was not the man to shirk a distasteful duty. Carpenter had long outstayed his leave upstairs and the spare room was directly over Heriot’s study. Voices had been raised at one time to an angry pitch, and this had set the man below thinking, but certainly not listening more than he could help. Nor had he caught a single word; but he had to remember that Carpenter’s pretext for the visit was a private money matter, and other circumstances connected with Jan’s finances.
He waylaid Chips on his way down.
“Well, Carpenter, you’ve been a long time?”
“I’m afraid I have, sir.”
“I gave you ten minutes and you took five-and-twenty. However, I hope you got your money?”