"'E's in his barth, sir!" expostulated the old woman.
"Then he must come out of it!" panted Jack.
"—That is, if 'e's out o' bed."
"Then he can stop in it, if he isn't.... I tell you—"
Jack gave up arguing. He took the old lady firmly by the shoulders, and placed her in the doorway of the audience-room; then he was up the inner stairs in three strides, through the sitting-room, and was tapping at the door of the bedroom. A faint sound of splashing ceased.
"Who's there? Don't—"
"It's me, sir—Kirkby! I'm sorry to disturb you, but—"
"Don't come in!" cried an agitated voice, with a renewed sound of water, as if someone had hastily scrambled out of the bath.
Jack cautiously turned the handle and opened the door a crack. A cry of dismay answered his move, followed by a tremendous commotion and swishing of linen.
"I'm coming in, sir," said Jack, struggling between agitation and laughter. It was obvious from the sounds that the clergyman had got into bed again, wet, and as God made him. There was no answer, and Jack pushed the door wider and went in.