There was a pause.
“Do the tenants ever ask to see me?” demanded Nicholas.
“They used to, sir. Now they save their shoe-leather coming up the drive.”
“Ah, you told them—?”
“Your orders, sir. You saw no one.”
“I see.” Nicholas’s fingers were beating a light tattoo on the arm of his chair. “Well, those are my orders. That will do. You needn’t come again till I ring.”
Jessop turned towards the door.
“Oh, by the way,” Nicholas’s voice arrested him on the threshold, “I fancy the middle window is unlatched.”
Jessop returned and went behind the curtains.
“It was, wasn’t it?” asked Nicholas as he emerged.