"Guess Mrs. Hendrie being away, the maids just fancy they can do as they please."
In a moment the change Angus had been awaiting came. In a flash hell seemed to be looking out of the millionaire's eyes.
"That's my wife's writing!" he cried, while one great hand gripped the manager's shoulder with crushing force.
Angus stared into the man's livid face, and, as eye sought eye, he knew that at last he was gazing into the torn soul of his employer.
CHAPTER XIV
A MAN'S HELL
Desperate, silent moments passed while the terrible eyes of the millionaire looked into, through, beyond, the almost expressionless face of his manager. Then, at last, all at once, his hand relaxed its painful grip upon the man's muscular shoulder, and—he laughed.
His laugh was unaccompanied by any words that justified the abrupt change. To Angus it brought a feeling of relief. His imagination was not acute. It is doubtful if he realized the lack of mirth, the hollow, false ring of that laugh. All he knew was that he felt as though some living volcano under him had suddenly ceased to threaten, and he was given a respite. Alexander Hendrie walked across to the desk, and flung his bulk into the sumptuously upholstered chair that stood before it. He swung it round, and pointed at a chair near by, and facing him, so placed that the light fell full upon the face of its occupant.
"Sit down," he commanded, with cold authority.