"Oh," he said, "so that is how the land lies, is it? I am indebted to the gentle Andrew for the pleasure of your acquaintance, eh? Well, come, come, don't be reticent, my friend; let us have the whole story."
Bit by bit, with his eye still on the revolver, Mr. Bates proceeded to relate the incidents of the previous night, from the time of his entry into the inn. The Professor listened to him without interrupting, the same curious, half-ironical, half-good-natured smile playing all the time about his mouth. Once, when he heard of the postman's final remark, he laughed out loud.
"So Mercury is evidently a gentleman of penetration," he observed. "What did you think of Andrew yourself, Mr. Bates?"
"I didn't like him at all, sir. He seemed to me a shifty, incompetent fellow, and insolent, sir—very insolent."
"I dare say you are right," said the Professor. "He was only insolent to me once, but that may have been for lack of a second opportunity. Shifty he certainly was, and as for incompetence—well, look at the state of this kitchen, Mr. Bates."
Mr. Bates looked. "Yes, sir," he said warmly, "it's disgraceful. It was the first thing I noticed as I came in. When I was—" He stopped abruptly.
"Well, well, well, when you were what? Let us have it, my friend."
"I was going to say, sir, that, when I was in service, I should have died of shame if any one had seen my kitchen in such a state."
The Professor raised his eyebrows. "When you were in service, eh? So you have risen in the world, Mr. Bates! And how long is it since you have exchanged the livery for the crape and jack-boots?"
"I beg your pardon, sir?"