“Very pooty—very pooty,” replied Maitland hoarsely. “That fiddler ought to play a few toons, though—nothing like a hornpipe on a fiddle.”
The manager looked after him open-mouthed, then hurried out to help the old man into his car.
“Gay—he’s gay!” said Elk, as bewildered as the manager. “Jumping snakes! Who was that?”
He addressed the unnecessary question to the manager, who had returned from his duty.
“That is Maitland, the millionaire, Mr. Elk,” said the other. “First time we’ve had him here, but now that he’s come to live in town——”
“Where is he living?” asked Elk.
“He has taken the Prince of Caux’s house in Berkeley Square,” said the manager.
Elk blinked at him.
“Say that again?”
“He has taken the Prince of Caux’s house,” said the manager. “And what is more, has bought it—the agent told me this afternoon.”