“It seems,” said I, putting in my oar for the first time, “that you remember remarkably well, Toby.”
The boy gazed at me as if I were a sport of nature, a phenomenon of dubiety amazing. “Why, he made me repeat what he said until I had it by heart, sir. He was very angry, Mr. Pendleton.”
Pendleton was in a brown study, until I plucked his sleeve and whispered. “Thinking won’t help. Let’s get out of here, or the boy will have something to regale the servants with.”
But Toby now proffered a request. “Please, sir, will it be all right if I take a picture of the servants to-night? Miss Lebetwood gave me her old flash-light camera when she came down this time, sir, and I want to use it.”
(Photography—not topography!)
“Why, hm, yes, I suppose so. Are the servants for it?”
“Some are afraid of the flash, sir, but I’ll show ’em how it works.”
“Go ahead, then, after dinner. Don’t blow up the place.”
“Thank you, sir. I won’t, sir. Miss Lebetwood will help me, sir.”
Maryvale was still standing in the corridor when we came out.