The musical outburst recalled Colonel Tempest somewhat to himself. He turned his eyes carefully away from Marshall, after that first long look of mutual understanding.
The man's apparent respectability, his smooth shaved face and quiet dress, from his well-brushed hat and black silk cravat to the dark dog-skin glove that held his irreproachable umbrella, set Colonel Tempest's teeth on edge.
He had not known what to expect, but—this!
In a flash of memory he recalled the several occasions on which he had seen Marshall in attendance on John, his attentive manner, and noiseless tread. Once before John could move he had seen Marshall lift him carefully into a more upright position. The remembrance of that helpless figure in Marshall's arms came back to him with a shudder that could not be repressed. Marshall, whose expressionless face had undergone no change whatever, cleared his throat again and looked at his watch.
"Begging your pardon, sir," he said, "it's nearly half-past six, and Mr. Tempest dines early to-night."
"Did you receive my other letters?" said Colonel Tempest, pulling himself together, and beginning to walk slowly down the path.
"Yes, sir. I'm sorry to have put you to the inconvenience of going to so many places, 'specially as I saw for myself how regular you turned up at 'em. But I wanted to make sure you were in earnest before I showed. My character is my livelihood, sir. There was a time when I was in trouble and got into Mr. Johnson's hands, but before that I'd been in service in 'igh families, very 'igh, sir. Mr. Tempest took me on the recommendation of the Earl of Carmian. I was with him two year."
"Mr. Johnson," said Colonel Tempest, stopping short, and turning a shade whiter than he had been before. "By —— I don't know anything about a Mr. Johnson. What do you mean?"
The two men eyed each other as if each suspected treachery.
"Did you write this?" said Marshall, producing Colonel Tempest's last letter.