"Where—where am I? What—what's the matter? Oh, it's Mr. Weevil. I beg your pardon, sir; but you so startled me. Is anything wrong?"
"No; nothing wrong." Then the master added with a grim smile: "I only wanted to see if you were quite—comfortable."
"As comfortable as one can be in a place like this, sir."
"It was your own fault you came here, remember, and it is an easy matter for you to come out. I hope you've decided to give me an explanation to-morrow of that disgraceful scene I witnessed in the grounds."
Stanley did not answer; and Mr. Weevil went out, locking the door once more behind him. It was not till he had gained his room that Paul crept from under the bed.
"I put him off the scent, didn't I?" whispered Stanley. "If I hadn't started up like I did, he would have looked under the bed. I'm certain he would."
"Very likely. The fat would have been in the fire then, with a vengeance. But how about the explanation he asks for? Why not? A few words will do it."
"It's not coming from me, if I stick here the term through," came the dogged answer. "Let Newall speak first; I'll follow."
Paul knew that it was extremely difficult to move Stanley from his purpose, when once he had decided on it. So he did not press the matter further just then, hoping that the morning would bring some change in the situation. His mind went back to the scene in the next room, and Stanley's went in the same direction, for the next moment he changed the subject by asking:
"How did Weevil get to know that man Zuker, I wonder?"