“I have an appointment,” snapped his master; “an important one.”
“Rather late, isn’t it?” suggested the old servant. “Remember that there are spies about. That little affair the other night aroused some curiosity—I’m certain of it.”
“Among a few common passers-by. Bah! my dear Levi, they don’t know anything.”
“But they may talk! This house has already got a bad name, you know.”
“Well, that’s surely not my fault,” cried the old man with a fiery flash in his eyes. “It’s more your fault for acting so infernally suspiciously and mysteriously. I know quite well what people say of me.”
“A good deal that’s true,” declared old Levi in open defiance of the man in whose service he had been so long.
Sam Statham grinned. It was a subject which he did not wish to discuss.
“You can go to bed, Levi. I’ll open the door,” he said to the man who was his janitor.
“Who’s coming?” inquired Levi abruptly.
“A friend. I want to talk to him seriously and alone.”