“Indeed!” and I turned to his master in some surprise; “have you discharged your valet within that time?”
“Oh, yes,” he lazily drawled; “I had Atkinson before him.”
“At the time you were ill?”
“Possibly so. I really don’t remember.”
“You did not tell me of this before.”
“No? Well, it doesn’t matter much, I suppose?”
I found it difficult to keep my temper. I had the lad Price brought up from the hall, and he said most decidedly that the valet before us was not the man who had taken in the parcel.
“Why did Atkinson leave you?” I resumed, to the master.
“He did not leave exactly. I was tired of him. He put on so many airs that some thought that he was the master and I the man—fact, I assure you. He was too fast, and conceited, and vain; and I thought—though I’d be the last to say it—he wasn’t quite what you call honest, you know.”
“Good-looking fellow?”