Stelfox raised his eyes for a moment, as respectfully as ever.
“No, sir, you haven’t.”
“Did you have any difficulty with him, in getting him to come back? It was in the barn you found him, wasn’t it—where I told you he was?”
“Yes, sir, it was in the barn. I had no difficulty with him.”
“And, of course, you have taken good care that he shouldn’t get out again?”
Now this was a question, undoubtedly, although he hardly meant it to be taken as one. It was supposed to be a matter-of-course remark, that hardly needed an answer. Stelfox’s answer was, perhaps, just the least bit aggressive in tone.
“I have taken the same care of him as usual, sir; I can’t do no more.”
John Bradfield, as he glanced again at the man’s face, looked doubtful still; but he saw that he had gone as far as he dared.
“I am quite satisfied with your care of him, Stelfox, quite satisfied. Of course, I’m always anxious, always nervous. I shouldn’t like him to get out again, and frighten the ladies.”
“There’s no fear of that, sir,” said Stelfox, as stolidly as ever.