Without a sound the ape waddled back to the open panelling and disappeared, and the door closed behind him.
“Why, the thing is human,” said Michael in an awe-stricken whisper.
Sir Gregory Penne chuckled.
“More than human,” he said. “Bhag is my shield against all trouble.”
His eyes seemed to go instantly to the sword above the mantelpiece.
“Where does he live?”
“He’s got a little apartment of his own, and he keeps it clean. He feeds with the servants.”
“Good Lord!” gasped Michael, and the other chuckled again at the surprise he had aroused.
“Yes, he feeds with the servants. They’re afraid of him, but they worship him: he’s a sort of god to them, but they’re afraid of him. Do you know what would have happened if I’d said ‘This man is my enemy?’ ” He pointed his stubby finger at Michael’s chest. “He would have torn you limb from limb. You wouldn’t have had a chance, Mr. What’s-your-name, not a dog’s chance. And yet he can be gentle—yes, he can be gentle.” He nodded. “And cunning! He goes out almost every night, and I’ve had no complaints from the villagers. No sheep stolen, nobody frightened. He just goes out and loafs around in the woods, and doesn’t kill as much as a hen partridge.”
“How long have you had him?”