“Miss Ford. Said it would keep him occupied.”
A step in the hall, a heavy step.
“That’s him coming now. Don’t be afraid of Uncle Isaac, sir: he’s as harmless as a child——”
Gordon came in at that moment, but stopped dead at the sight of the visitor. He was in his shirt-sleeves, he carried a duster in his hand, his front was covered with a large white apron and a bib that was kept in place by a pin. Bobbie could not speak—he could only stare and stare.
“By heavens, it’s—Uncle Isaac!” he said in a voice that was almost inaudible to Mr. Superbus.
“You know him, sir?” he smiled. “I thought it would be very strange if you didn’t. Members of the same family, so to speak, and very likely inflicted in the same way.”
“Ye-yes, I know him.”
Mr. Superbus approached the unhappy object of their discussion.
“Do you want something, Uncle Isaac?” he asked kindly, and patted Gordon’s arm. So broken was Mr. Selsbury’s spirit that his keeper remained alive and uninjured.
“Yes—no,” he said hoarsely.