"Detectives?" he repeated, taking off his hat and smoothing it mechanically. "What can they want here?"
"If I am not greatly out in my calculation, sir, there are those in this business who would cheerfully give a hundred pounds to catch Mr. Mortomley tripping, or to be able to prove he ever did trip."
"Mr. Mortomley may safely defy them then," said Rupert, but he did not turn back and warn Dolly there were spies round and about watching the old familiar place.
Mr. Turner stood contemplating his retreating figure.
"A fine young man," he thought, "but cut out and made up after the world's pattern. And so he won't tell her. Well, then, I will; for a lady like Mrs. Mortomley ought not to be kept in the dark. And her husband too ill to look after aught for himself," added Mr. Turner, who in truth was with the Mortomleys heart and soul, so far as the exigencies of his delightful profession allowed him to have sympathy for any one beyond the "one" who had put him in possession.
So he told Esther, who told her mistress, who was naturally incredulous of, and indignant at, Turner's statement.
"Detectives!" she repeated scornfully. "Does the man suppose we are thieves or murderers?"
"No, ma'am, but I—I do really think he is sorry for you—and—the master."
Esther was brushing Mrs. Mortomley's hair, as she uttered this sentence slowly, and with considerable hesitation.