It was the turn of Stan and the manager to stare at him now, and they looked as if they fancied he was going out of his mind.
But he looked back at them with a light that was certainly not that of insanity dancing in his clear, keen eyes, and there was the faint dawning of a smile upon his lips as he saw their puzzled looks.
“What are you staring at, Stan?” he said at last.
“I—I couldn’t make out what you meant, uncle. Do you want the cat? She’s generally in the warehouse, watching for the rats that come out of the river-bank.”
“Oh no; I wasn’t alluding to that one, but to the other.”
“There is no other cat on the premises, sir,” said Blunt, staring in turn.
“Oh yes, there is. I mean the metaphorical cat. She’s out of the bag now, and I was calling her back. Why, hang it, man! there’s the cause of the plot. Tell us all about it.”
The incident was repeated to the end.
“A great pity,” said Uncle Jeff gravely.
“Yes, sir, it was,” said Blunt. “I acted on the impulse of the moment, and of course I alone was to blame, for in my sharp, overbearing manner I insisted upon your nephew firing. Of course, I only meant, in my annoyance at his dozing off at such a time, to give him a startler. But I’ve felt sorry ever since.”