As for me, I was wondering all round the affair. What was Parslewe after? What was Pawley doing there? Who was Pawley, anyway? Why, at that juncture, when his reinforcements had come up, did Parslewe want to parley with Pawley? For a parley it was that was going on in that kitchen, without a doubt. We heard nothing; there were no raised voices, no evidence of any angry or wordy discussion. All we heard was an occasional whisper from Weech, a muttered growl from Bickerdale in response. But on the hearth a kettle was singing, and at a corner of the rug, near Bickerdale's slippered feet, a cat sat and purred and purred. . . .
The door of the kitchen suddenly opened; just as suddenly I saw that whatever had been said, or whatever had taken place in that kitchen, a marvellous transformation had developed in Pawley's manner. He held open the door for Parslewe, and stood aside deferentially as Parslewe passed him. When he followed Parslewe into the parlour it was with the air of a man who has either met his master or been made subject to some revelation. And it was he who spoke first—in
