"That's the best of this blessed country life of yours. Chap rests so
well. Talk about the simple life--" He broke off and laughed again,
watching Borkins pick up a clean fork and carry it to the plate-basket
upon the sideboard.
The man retained his perfect dignity and ease of manner.
"Quite so, sir. Quite so. I trust you slept well."
"Pretty well--_for a strange bed_," returned Cleek with emphasis, and
turned upon his heel. "If you see my man you might send him along to me.
I want to arrange with him about suits that are coming down from my
tailor's."
"Very good, sir."
Cleek joined the two men with something akin to admiration for the
butler's impassiveness in his heart. If he knew anything, then he was
a past master in the art of repression. On the other hand perhaps he
didn't--and there was really no reason why he should. Eavesdropping was
a common enough fault with the best of servants, and curiosity a failing
of most men. Borkins might be--and possibly was--absolutely innocent of
any knowledge of last night's affair.
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