“Boat on Thursday, sir.”
Meredith nodded. After a little pause he pointed to a chair.
“Just sit down,” he said. “I want to talk over this Simiacine business with you.”
Joseph squared his shoulders, and sat down with a face indicative of the gravest attention. Sitting thus he was no longer a servant, but a partner in the Simiacine. He even indulged in a sidelong jerk of the head, as if requesting the attention of some absent friend in a humble sphere of life to this glorious state of affairs.
“You know,” said Meredith, “Mr. Durnovo is more or less a blackguard.”
Joseph drew in his feet, having previously hitched his trousers up at the knees.
“Yes, sir,” he said, glancing up. “A blackguard—a damned blackguard,” he added unofficially under his breath.
“He wants continual watching and a special treatment. He requires someone constantly at his heels.”
“Yes, sir,” admitted Joseph, with some fervour.
“Now I am ordered home by the doctor,” went on Meredith. “I must go by the next boat, but I don't like to go and leave Mr. Oscard in the lurch, with no one to fall back upon but Durnovo—you understand.”