“She denied it,” continued the housekeeper, speaking with great animation; “but she could give no explanation. It was the last straw. She took too many liberties altogether.”
As Harley remained silent, the old lady ran on animatedly, but Harley was no longer listening.
“This is not the same table linen?” he asked, suddenly.
“Why, no, sir,” replied Benson. “Last week’s linen will be at the laundry.”
“It has not gone yet,” interrupted Mrs. Howett. “I was making up the list when you brought me Mr. Harley’s message.”
Paul Harley turned to her.
“May I ask you to bring the actual linen used at table on that occasion, Mrs. Howett?” he said. “My request must appear singular, I know, but I assure you it is no idle one.”
Benson looked positively stupid, but Mrs. Howett, who had conceived a sort of reverence for Paul Harley, hurried away excitedly.
“Finally, Benson,” said Harley, “what else did you bring into the room after Sir Charles and I had entered?”
“Soup, sir. Here is the tureen, on the sideboard, and all the soup plates of the service in use that night. Of course, sir, I can’t say which were the actual plates used.”