“Mr Hunter in?” asked Piet Maartens roughly, stepping into the hall and rudely staring into the dining-room. “Tell him I want him.”
“Baas at dinner; finish in half-hour,” said Tom Thumb, standing in his way.
At this moment Mr Hunter called out to the “boy” to show Piet in, and a moment later the latter had entered the dining-room.
“I’ve a warrant here for the expulsion of John Somerton, who has been living with you,” he said with a malicious smile. “Where is he? I call upon you to hand him over!”
Piet Maartens stared round rudely, and strutted up and down the room as he spoke, as if the house were his and not Mr Hunter’s.
“John Somerton?” asked Mr Hunter quietly. “Why, what can he have been doing? Surely there is some mistake?”
“Mistake or not, I have a warrant here,” repeated Piet, still with the same malicious smile, “and I call upon you once more to tell me where he is.”
“I don’t know where he is. You can see for yourself that he is not dining with us,” said Mr Hunter quietly.
“He was seen to enter this house three hours ago, and he is here now, and you know it too!” exclaimed Piet angrily. “Now, where is he?”
“I have told you he is not here. If you do not believe me, and still think he is in the house, go and find him,” said Mr Hunter calmly. “Tom Thumb will take you round. Perhaps, then, you will have no objection to our going on with the meal which you have so rudely interrupted?”