At this moment, after a discreet
knock on the door, my valet Clegg entered.
"Sir," said he in his soft and toneless voice, "the groom is below;
shall you ride or drive this morning?"
"Neither!" I answered, whereupon Clegg bowed and withdrew.
"Excellent!" nodded Anthony. "Nothing like walking to make an empty
stomach aware of its vacuity. By the way, queer article that Clegg
fellow of yours--face like a mask! Where did you pick him up?"
"I don't remember. He had excellent references, I believe. Why do you
ask?"
"Fancy I've seen him before. Come, let us adventure forth in search of
your appetite."
To us in the hall came Clegg to bring our hats and canes.
"Were you ever in the service of a Captain Danby?" enquired Anthony,
his keen gaze on Clegg's impassive face.
"Yes, sir, I was valet to Captain Marmaduke Danby--two years ago."
"I saw you with him once at a small inn called 'The Jolly Waggoner.'"
Clegg bowed deferentially, but when he looked up his pale eyes seemed
to glow strangely and his pallid cheek was slightly flushed.
"Yes, sir, Captain Danby sent for me to attend him there--I found him
in bed exceedingly--unwell. He was--suffering, sir. He suffered quite
a--good deal of--pain, sir--of pain."
Saying which, Clegg bowed us out into the street with a deeper
obeisance than usual.
"Strange!" said Anthony, taking my arm. "You have probably forgotten
this Danby, the fellow I had the pleasure of thrashing, Perry?"
"I shall never forget how you stood on him and wiped your boots,
Anthony.
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