Baines flushed suddenly and looked yet unhappier.
“No, my lord, he went back to Chichitza—at least so I understood.”
“Why?”
Baines stammered, and fumbled his hat diffidently before he answered, striving evidently to use chosen words in describing a disagreeable incident. At last he burst forth incontinent, forbearing circumlocutions.
“He was very impudent to me, my lord—I can’t describe it in any other way. He wanted to possess himself of one or two of his lordship’s papers—particularly the one with the signs on it, that I’ve spoken of—and was quite passionate to me about it. Of course I knew my duty, and wouldn’t let him have it, and he used dreadful language to me in French—at least I’m not a scholar, my lord, but it sounded almost devilish. At the end he rounded on me. ‘Well, pig of pigs,’ he said, ‘take it to England then. It but remains for you to bring it back when you get there. Tell the new Lord Heatherslie that I await him at Chichitza till Christmas. After that I shall work on my own account,’ and that was all I got out of him after that, my lord.”
There was a gurgle of unrepressed delight from Gerry’s corner, followed by a murmur of “No getting out of it, my boy.” I quelled him with a glance, and proceeded with my interrogation.
“And that was the last word you had with him, Baines?”
“That was the last word he spoke to me, my lord,” answered Baines guiltily.
I understood. “You should not have answered a gentleman back,” said I severely. “What did you say to him, Baines?”
He grew perceptibly hotter, but answered honestly.