"Yes, sir; but it's only been quite recent, and, knowing Mr. Singleton was coming, we didn't like to bother you."
"We can only apologize, Torry," I interposed. "The employees have been alarmed, but we're bound to commend their zeal."
"Humph!" he ejaculated, the wounds to his dignity still rankling.
I forced a cigar upon him and talked of the weather to cover Antoine's retreat. I resolved not to tell him the real cause of the servant's apprehensions, knowing his disposition to magnify trifles and fearing he might send the police to investigate. He lived only five miles from Barton, a fact to which he now referred.
"Hadn't heard of any tramps over my way," he said, frowning. "These old lunatics your uncle left here are simply hipped; that's all. Mr. Bashford made a mistake in turning the place over to them; it was silly, downright silly. It's a wonder you didn't think of upsetting his will on the ground of mental unsoundness. It's not up to me to suggest such a thing, but I believe you could knock it out!"
"Oh, chuck it! They're well-meaning helpless people, and it's bully that Uncle Bash provided a home for them. There's nobody else to use the place."
His cigar had proved soothing, but my last remark caused him to sit up straight in his chair.
"By George! my hold-up almost made me forget what I came for. I have news for you, Singleton; good or bad, as you may take it; Mrs. Bashford is in America."
"Mrs. Bashford," I repeated faintly, "where do you get these pleasant tidings?"
"This," he answered, producing a telegram, "is all I know about it. Got it just as I was leaving the office this afternoon, and thought I'd motor over and give you a pleasant surprise."