The moment seemed scarcely to be a propitious one for interviewing Decimus Vernon. He would hardly be in a mood to receive a visitor. But, as the matter of which I wished to speak to him was of pressing importance, and another opportunity might not immediately occur, I decided to approach him as if unconscious of anything untoward having happened.
As I began to mount the stairs there came stealing, rather than walking down them, Vernon's man, John Parkes. At sight of me, the fellow started.
"Oh, Mr. Benham, sir, it's you! I thought it was Mr. Crampton back again."
I looked at Parkes, who seemed sufficiently upset. I had known the fellow for years.
"There's been a little argument, eh, Parkes?"
Parkes raised both his hands.
"A little argument, sir! There's been the most dreadful quarrel I ever heard."
"Where is Mr. Vernon?"
"He's in the library, sir, where Mr. Crampton left him. Shall I go and tell him that you would wish to see him?"
Parkes eyed me in a manner which plainly suggested that, if he were in my place, he should wish to do nothing of the kind. I declined his unspoken suggestion, preferring, also, to announce myself.