“Have you found out anything, Mr Linnett?”
“You wait a bit, my dear sir. Just take up the card.”
Mr Girtle was in the library with Paul Capel at the time, for the old man had settled down there, treating the younger as if he were a son. He had talked several times of going, but Capel begged him not to leave, and he always stayed.
“Well, Preenham, for me?”
“He said you and master, sir—the gentleman.”
“Ah! Linnett. The detective. Will you see him?”
“No,” said Capel, sternly. “I don’t want that affair opened again.”
“But my dear boy—”
“There; very well. Show him up.”
The detective came in, smiling, but only to encounter a stern look in return.