“I don’t want to see no gentleman,” cried Hutchins noisily. “Unless”—his manner suddenly changed to one of pitiable anxiety—“unless you’re from the Company, sir, to—to——”
“No; I have come on Mr Carlyle’s behalf,” replied Carrados, walking to a chair as though he moved by a kind of instinct.
Hutchins laughed his wry contempt.
“Mr Carlyle!” he reiterated; “Mr Carlyle! Fat lot of good he’s been. Why don’t he do something for his money?”
“He has,” replied Carrados, with imperturbable good-humour; “he has sent me. Now, I want to ask you a few questions.”
“A few questions!” roared the irate man. “Why, blast it, I have done nothing else but answer questions for a month. I didn’t pay Mr Carlyle to ask me questions; I can get enough of that for nixes. Why don’t you go and ask Mr Herbert Ananias Mead your few questions—then you might find out something.”
There was a slight movement by the door and Carrados knew that the girl had quietly left the room.
“You saw that, sir?” demanded the father, diverted to a new line of bitterness. “You saw that girl—my own daughter, that I’ve worked for all her life?”
“No,” replied Carrados.
“The girl that’s just gone out—she’s my daughter,” explained Hutchins.