"I don't want any dinner. I dined in London.... But I think I could do with a snack of supper."
He went over to the sideboard, unlocked a lower division of it with his private key, and drew forth a half-bottle of champagne.
"If you'll help me, I'll make it a whole bottle."
"No, thank you."
Before re-locking the cupboard, he peered into it suspiciously.
"I don't think my wine is any too safe in this cellaret. How do I know how many keys there aren't knocking about the house? I may be wrong, but I thought I counted three more bottles than what's left."
Then he rang the bell, and at the same time called loudly for the parlourmaid.
"Mary! Mary! Why the devil doesn't she come in and ask if anything's wanted?" He left the room, grumbling and fuming.
Mrs. Marsden heard his voice outside, and the voice of Yates timidly apologising.
Mary the parlourmaid had a very bad cold, and Yates had ventured to allow her to go to bed.