But Daniel would not listen. “I don't want to hear it,” he said. “Tell Serena, if you want to, when she comes home. I've got too much else on my mind to bother with swabs like him. If he should try to come back again you can call me, otherwise not. I ain't interested.”
And yet, if he could have seen and heard his ex-butler just at that moment, he might have been interested. Hapgood, on the next corner, out of sight from the Dott home, had met and waylaid Mr. Percy Hungerford. To the latter gentleman he was telling the story of his discharge. Cousin Percy seemed disturbed and angry.
“It's your own fault,” he declared. “You ought to have been more careful.”
“Careful! 'Ow should I know the fools was going to write a letter? I told 'em not to. And 'ow did I know the old woman—blast 'er—was watchin' me all the time? And now I've lost my job, and a good soft job, too. You've got to get it back for me, Mr. 'Ungerford; you've got to 'elp me, sir.”
“I'll help you all I can, of course, but I doubt if it will do any good. I can't stand talking with you here. Drop me a line at the club, telling me where you are, and I'll let you know what turns up. Oh, say, have any more letters come for—you know who?”
“No, that was the only one, sir. But a telegram came this morning.”
Mr. Hungerford started. “A telegram?” he repeated. “For her?”
“Yes, sir. And from 'im, it was, too.”
“Did she get it?”
Mr. Hapgood winked. “It was 'phoned up from the telegraph office, sir,” he said, “and I answered the 'phone. 'Ere's the copy I made, sir.”