‘Number —.’
‘Number —?... I’ve got the plans of that somewhere. What’s the plate like, Prosser?’
‘Very handy, Mr. Hartopp,’ answered the valet, falling into old tracks of thought.
‘It’s beautiful plate,’ said Dwala: ‘all the most expensive kinds. You’d have it on the table every day at meals if you came and lived with me, Mr. Hartopp: of course you wouldn’t see it, because you’re blind, but you’d know it was there. It’s a lovely house altogether, I believe: everything’s as expensive as we could get anywhere; there are five footmen, and heaven only knows how many housemaids. What I’m looking for is somebody who’d really enjoy all these things. I can’t. It’s such a pity you’re blind, because you’ll miss a lot; in fact, I had half a mind not to ask you, because you were blind. But I was so awfully fetched by the way you threw those sweetmeats to the children.’
‘You’re another d——d sentimentalist, I see. Does he drink too, Prosser?’
‘No, I don’t drink,’ said Dwala: ‘I have so many other amusements.’
‘What’s your income?’
‘Four hundred thousand pounds a year.’
‘Four hun.... Good Lord! you ought to be ashamed of yourself.... Here, Thomas, Andy—anybody there?’ he cried out, hobbling excitedly towards the iron seats.
‘I’m here, Bill!’ came a voice from the distance.