“Yes, sir; Charles’s duty has been to clean the plate, but it is in my charge, and I have kept the strictest account of it. A little disposed to show temper, sometimes, sir, but strictly honest and very clean.”
“This is a very sad and unseemly business at such a time,” said Mr Girtle. “Ramo, you have made a mistake.”
“No, no!” cried the old Indian, wrathfully.
“Come, come,” said Mr Girtle; “be reasonable.”
“The police,” panted the old Indian. “Send for the police.”
“All right,” cried Charles, defiantly; “send for the police and let ’em search me.”
“Silence!” cried Mr Girtle. “Go down and arrange your dress, sir. Mr Capel, young ladies, will you return to the drawing-room? Signori, will you retire? That will do, Preenham. Leave Ramo to me.”
In another minute the old solicitor was left with Ramo, who stood beneath the dim stained-glass window, with his arms folded and his brow knit.
“You do not trust and believe me, sir?”
“Don’t talk nonsense, Ramo. You know I trust you as the most faithful fellow in the world.”