"I know when he left! What I want to know is—has he come back?"
On being informed that Mr. Lloyd had not returned, Beeston struck the floor a vicious blow with his stick.
"He'll be back and I want to see him! You hear? You let me know the instant he comes in!"
"Very good, sir," Crabbe replied and, dismissed with a brusque wave of the hand, withdrew to the pantry. Then, freeing his arm from Cater's, Beeston gave him, too, a knockdown scowl.
"Get out!" he ordered. Cater, as ordered, got out.
Bab was still there on the stairs. That raw, ill-mannered roughness so often Beeston's mood was too old a story now for her to give much heed to it, and she was moving off indifferently when he put a hand swiftly on her arm.
"Wait!" ordered Beeston. "You hear? Wait!" Bab gazed at him wide-eyed. "I want to have a look at you," said Beeston.
His mouth set, his lips protruding on themselves, he stamped up the hall a way, and, pushing a button set there in the wall, sent a flood of light pouring down from the chandelier. Then he came pounding back.
"Now stand where you are!" directed Beeston.