Still there was silence.
“I was a fool to come,” said the man drearily. “’Twas the weather did it in the end. I’d gone mad-like listening to the wind and rain, and thinking of her and the child that was to be—” again he stopped.
Nicholas was watching him from under the penthouse of his eyebrows. Suddenly he spoke.
“How soon could you pay your rent?” he demanded.
“In a fortnight most like, sir. Three weeks for certain.”
“Have you told Mr. Curtis that?”
“I have, sir. But it’s the tick of time, or out you go.”
“Have you ever been behindhand before?”
“No, sir.”
“How has it happened now?” The questions came short, incisive.