"I looked in to see if you can let me have a butler for a few days," I said. "My own man is on the sick list."
He raised his hands. "Dear me, sir, I am sorry to hear that. Mr. Northcote of Park Lane, is it not, sir? I believe we had the pleasure of supplying you with several of your present staff."
This also was information to me, but I received it with calmness.
"Perhaps you can continue the good work, then?" I suggested.
"Certainly, sir, of course. If you will take a chair a minute, I will just consult our books. I have no doubt that we have someone who would fill the vacancy."
Maurice and I seated ourselves, while he bustled off to the other end of the room and began to turn over the pages of a big ledger. I picked up a copy of Punch, but I had scarcely glanced at the first picture when our grey-bearded friend came hurrying back with the light of discovery in his face.
"Why, of course, sir, I have got the very man you want, sir. Stupid of me not to have remembered it; but, as a matter of fact, he was only entered on our books yesterday afternoon."
"And who is this paragon?" inquired Maurice.
"His name is Francis, sir. He is Sir Henry Tregattock's late butler. A most excellent servant, I believe."
"Why has he left?" I asked.