Accustomed to note every slightest variance in his master’s moods, Jessop was at once aware of something unusual in his bearing. There was an odd, suppressed excitement; the nonchalance of his manner was unquestionably assumed.
“Ah, Jessop, I rang.”
“Yessir,” said Jessop, imperturbably, as who should say, “Naturally, since I have answered the summons.”
Nicholas cleared his throat.
“Er—Jessop, you can bring Michael Field here at two o’clock this afternoon, when he returns from his dinner. You can also let Mr. Curtis know that he is to be here at three o’clock. You had better go to Byestry and give the message yourself. If he wishes to know by whose orders, you need mention no names, but merely say that orders have been given you to that effect. I fancy curiosity will bring him, even if he resents the non-mention of actual authority.”
Jessop stared, actually stared, a prolonged, amazed survey of his master’s face.
“You are seeing them, sir!” he gasped.
For a moment testiness swung to the fore at the question. Then the amazement on Jessop’s face unloosed his sense of humour.
“Yes,” said Nicholas quietly.
“But—” began Jessop. His mind was in a chaos. The order was so utterly unexpected. There were at least a million things he wished to point out, but the only one on which his brain would focus was the fact that if these men saw Nicholas, they would no longer imagine him to be dead. And yet that fact was so obvious, it was evident it must have occurred to Nicholas’s own mind.