Lord Tilbury expelled a long breath.
“Indeed? You went next door to tea?”
“Yes.”
“Leaving this—this criminal——”
“Well, I knew he couldn’t get away. Oh, I had reasoned it all out. Your happening to turn up was just a bit of bad luck. Was there anything you wanted to see me about?” asked Sam, feeling that the sooner this interview terminated the pleasanter it would be.
Lord Tilbury puffed out his cheeks and stood smouldering for a moment. In the agitation of the recent occurrences, he had almost forgotten the tragedy which had sent him hurrying down to Mon Repos.
“Yes, there was,” he said. He sizzled for another brief instant. “I may begin by telling you,” he said, “that your uncle, Mr. Pynsent, when he sent you over here to join my staff, practically placed me in loco parentis with respect to you.”
“An excellent idea,” said Sam courteously.
“An abominable idea! It was an iniquitous thing to demand of a busy man that he should take charge of a person of a character so erratic, so undisciplined, so—er—eccentric as to border closely upon the insane.”
“Insane?” said Sam. He was wounded to the quick by the injustice of these harsh words. From first to last, he could think of no action of his that had not been inspired and guided throughout by the dictates of pure reason. “Who, me?”