Hutchinson got up, newspaper in hand.
“I say, I'd like to go down and have a look at that chap myself,” he announced.
“If he's so frightened, perhaps—” Little Ann hesitated.
“That's it,” put in Mrs. Bowse. “He's so nervous it'd make him worse to see another man. You'd better wait, Mr. Hutchinson.”
Hutchinson sat down rather grumpily, and Mrs. Bowse and Little Ann went down the stairs together.
“I feel real nervous myself,” said Mrs. Bowse, “it's so queer. But he's not crazy. He's quiet enough.”
As they neared the bottom of the staircase Little Ann could see over the balustrade into the dining-room. The strange man was sitting by the table, his disordered, black-haired head on his arm. He looked like an exhausted thing. Tembarom was sitting by him, and was talking in an encouraging voice. He had laid a hand on one of the stranger's. On the table beside them was spread a number of bills which had evidently just been counted.
“Here's the ladies,” said Tembarom.
The stranger lifted his head and, having looked, rose and stood upright, waiting. It was the involuntary, mechanical action of a man who had been trained among gentlemen.
“It's Mrs. Bowse again, and she's brought Miss Hutchinson down with her. Miss Hutchinson always knows what to do,” explained Tembarom in his friendly voice.