"I've heard 'em from any one but you."
Bates drew a deep breath, only to expel it fiercely between puffed lips.
"It's this way," he growled. "Mr. Robert an' the ol' man didn't hit off, an' there was a deuce of a row between 'em the other day, Saturday it was. My niece, Mary, was a-dustin' the banisters when the two kem out from breakfast, an' she heerd the Gov'nor say: 'That's my last word on the subjec'. I mean to be obeyed this time.'
"'But, look here, pater,' said Mr. Robert—he always calls his father pater, ye know—'I reelly can't arrange matters in that offhand way. You must give me time.' 'Not another minute,' said Mr. Fenley. 'Oh, dash it all,' said Mr. Robert, 'you're enough to drive a fellow crazy. At times I almost forget that I'm your son. Some fellows would be tempted to blow their brains out, an' yours, too.'
"At that, Tomlinson broke in, an' grabbed Mr. Robert's arm, an' the Gov'nor went off in the car in a fine ol' temper. Mr. Robert left The Towers on his motor bike soon afterward, an' he hasn't been back since."
Although the fount of information temporarily ran dry, Farrow felt that there was more to come if its secret springs were tapped.
"Did Mary drop a hint as to what the row was about?" he inquired.
"She guessed it had something to do with Miss Sylvia."
"Why Miss Sylvia?"
"She an' Mr. Robert are pretty good friends, you see."