"I've burnt me 'and somethin' 'orrid on this damn' 'ot chimney," he complained nervously.
He succeeded in setting fire to the wick. The light showed him barefoot and shivering in shirt and trousers. He lifted a bemused red face to Amber, blinking and nursing his scorched hand. "For pity's syke, sir, w'at's 'appened?"
"It's hard to say," replied Amber vaguely, preoccupied. He went immediately to a window and stood there, looking out.
"But w'ere's Mr. Rutton, sir?"
"Gone—out there—I don't know just where." Amber moved back to the table. "You see, he had a caller."
"A caller, sir—on a night like this?"
"The man he came here to hide from," said Amber.
"I knew 'e was tryin' to dodge somethin', sir; but 'e never told me aught about it. What kind of a person was 'e, sir, and what made Mr. Rutton go aw'y with 'im?"
"He didn't; he went after him to…." Amber caught his tongue on the verge of an indiscretion; no matter what his fears, they were not yet become a suitable subject for discussion with Rutton's servant. "I think," he amended lamely, "he had forgotten something."
"And 'e's out there now! My Gawd, what a night!" He hung in hesitation for a little. "Did 'e wear 'is topcoat and 'at, sir?"