"Yes," said Mr. Flannery, who was quick at noticing things.
"I'd better go and tell him."
"Tell Mr. Twist?"
"Well, I'd better, hadn't I?"
Mr. Flannery demurred. To tell Mr. Twist involved explanations, and explanations, if they were to be convincing, must necessarily reveal him, Mr. Flannery, in a light none too dignified. It might be that, having learned the facts, Mr. Twist would decide to dispense with the services of an assistant who, even from the best motives, hid in shrubberies and said "Boo!" to maidservants.
"You listen to me, my girl," he advised. "Mr. Twist is a busy gentleman that has many responsibilities and much to occupy him. He don't want to be bothered with no stories of dropped trays. All you just do is run back to the kitchen and tell Mrs. Evans to cook the Case some more breakfast. The coffee pot's broke, but the cup ain't broke and the plate ain't broke and the mustardan-pepperan-salt thing ain't broke. I'll pick 'em up and you take 'em back on the tray and don't say nothing to nobody. While you're gone I'll be burying what's left of them eggs."
"But Mr. Twist put something special in the coffee."
"Eh? How do you mean?"
"When I took him in the tray just now, he said, 'Is that the Case Upstairs' breakfast?' and I said Yes, it was, and Old Monkey Brand put something that looked like a aspirin tablet or something in the coffee pot. I thought it might be some medicine he had to have to make him quiet and keep him from breaking out and murdering all of us."
Mr. Flannery smiled indulgently.