Bunter: Very likely. Let me give you some more port, Mr. Cummings. Or a little of Lord Peter's old brandy.
Cummings: A little of the brandy, thank you, Mr. Bunter. I suppose you have the run of the cellar here. (He winked at me.)
«Trust me for that,» I said, and I fetched him the Napoleon. I assure your lordship it went to my heart to pour it out for a man like that. However, seeing we had got on the right tack, I felt it wouldn't be wasted.
«I'm sure I wish it was always gentlemen that come here at night,» I said. (Your lordship will excuse me, I am sure, making such a suggestion.)
(«Good God,» said Lord Peter, «I wish Bunter was less thorough in his methods.»)
Cummings: Oh, he's that sort, his lordship, is he? (He chuckled and poked me. I suppress a portion of his conversation here, which could not fail to be as offensive to your lordship as it was to myself. He went on:) No, it's none of that with Sir Julian. Very few visitors at night, and always gentlemen. And going early as a rule, like the one I mentioned.
Bunter: Just as well. There's nothing I find more wearisome, Mr. Cummings, than sitting up to see visitors out.
Cummings: Oh, I didn't see this one out. Sir Julian let him out himself at ten o'clock or thereabouts. I heard the gentleman shout «Good-night» and off he goes.
Bunter: Does Sir Julian always do that?
Cummings: Well, that depends. If he sees visitors downstairs, he lets them out himself; if he sees them upstairs in the library, he rings for me.