“Now, Robbins,” he said, “look here: of course you know this absurd statement that has been going round the house, and that it’s all nonsense.”
“Well, my lord,” said, the butler, “Lady Maude has encouraged that sort of man about the place lately.”
“Confound you for a big pompous, out-of-livery fool!” cried Tom, bringing his hand down with a crash upon the table. “There, fetch all the servants in, quick.”
Robbins stared, and felt disposed to give notice to leave upon the spot, but Tom’s way mastered him, and, feeling “all of a work,” as he confided afterwards to the cook, he hurried out, and soon after the whole staff was assembled in the dining-room, Justine having been fetched from her ladyship’s side.
“Now then,” cried Tom, opening his informal court. “Who knows anything about this?”
“Please, m’lord,” said Henry, the snub-nosed little foot page, florid with buttons, and fat from stolen sweets, “I see a man playing the organ outside to-night.”
“So you did yesterday, and the day before.”
“Yes, m’lord,” said the boy, eagerly; “and I heard somebody go out.”
“Did you?” said Tom, politely. “Now, look here, my boy! If you dare to open that mouth of yours and get chattering to people this monstrous piece of nonsense, I’ll—I’ll, hang me, I’ll cut your ears off.”
The boy ducked and held one arm up, as if he expected to be attacked at once, and ended by taking refuge behind his best friend and greatest enemy—to wit, the cook.