“Mrs Brade!”
“It’s a fact, sir, I assure you, and we may as well out with the truth.”
“Look here,” said Guest, speaking hoarsely, for he felt startled at the woman’s words, coinciding so exactly with horrible thoughts hidden in his own breast. “This is a very serious thing to say. What grounds have you for such an assertion?”
“Well, sir, if you’ll sit down I’ll tell you.”
Guest reseated himself, feeling that if he wished to hear, he must let the woman go on in her own way.
“I’ve always liked Mr Stratton, sir, since he’s been here, and his name always putting me in mind of Lady Burdett Coutts’ house at the corner of Strutton Street, where I have visited one of the servants.”
Guest made an impatient gesture.
“Yes, sir, I am coming to it as fast as I can. You see doing for him so long and looking upon him like a son, and doing for Mr Brettison, too, as is always most aggravating about his dusting, and his room’s a disgrace, but I never thought of Mr Stratton turning like that.”
“Like what?”
“I’m telling you, sir. Getting so that it’s a favour to be allowed to go into his room to tidy up, and him watching you and following you about with his eyes, and glaring at you all the time.”