“Cleaning the silver.”
Bobbie reeled.
“Cleaning the silver!” he said, dazed. “I’ll wake up in a minute.” He pinched himself, Mr. Superbus watching and ready to offer suggestions. They were unnecessary: Bobbie found a tender spot. “I’m awake—it’s real. Uncle Isaac is cleaning the silver! Where are the servants—the other servants?”
Julius could take exception at the “other.”
“Miss Ford sent them out, if you mean the servants. I’m here professional. I don’t mind tellin’ you, sir, that my job is to see that Uncle Isaac don’t go out too.”
Bobbie began at last to see daylight. If it was Gordon, his desire for liberty was not only pardonable but praiseworthy.
“Does he want to go?”
Julius thought the question unnecessary. Surely a member of the family knew all about the family skeletons? At the same time it was only natural that he should pretend he didn’t. Julius was a just man.
“He’s a bit nutty. See what I mean? He’s got delusions, hallucinations—to use a medical expression. Sees things, thinks he’s somebody else. I’ve had hundreds of such cases through my hands.”
“But who put him to clean the silver?” insisted Bobbie.