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Page 55
"I might have had better luck while I was looking for a place,"
said Ashe. "I dare say you know how bad-tempered Mr. Peters is.
He is dyspeptic."
"So," responded Mr. Beach, "I have been informed." He brooded for
a space. "I, too," he proceeded, "suffer from my stomach. I have
a weak stomach. The lining of my stomach is not what I could wish
the lining of my stomach to be."
"Tell me," said Ashe gratefully, leaning forward in an attitude
of attention, "all about the lining of your stomach."
It was a quarter of an hour later when Mr. Beach was checked in
his discourse by the chiming of the little clock on the
mantelpiece. He turned round and gazed at it with surprise not
unmixed with displeasure.
"So late?" he said. "I shall have to be going about my duties.
And you, also, Mr. Marson, if I may make the suggestion. No doubt
Mr. Peters will be wishing to have your assistance in preparing
for dinner. If you go along the passage outside you will come to
the door that separates our portion of the house from the other.
I must beg you to excuse me. I have to go to the cellar."
Following his directions Ashe came after a walk of a few yards to
a green-baize door, which, swinging at his push, gave him a view
of what he correctly took to be the main hall of the castle--a
wide, comfortable space, ringed with settees and warmed by a log
fire burning in a mammoth fireplace. On the right a broad
staircase led to the upper regions.
It was at this point that Ashe realized the incompleteness of Mr.
Beach's directions. Doubtless, the broad staircase would take him
to the floor on which were the bedrooms; but how was he to
ascertain, without the tedious process of knocking and inquiring
at each door, which was the one assigned to Mr. Peters? It was
too late to go back and ask the butler for further guidance;
already he was on his way to the cellar in quest of the evening's
wine.
As he stood irresolute a door across the hall opened and a man of
his own age came out. Through the doorway, which the young man
held open for an instant while he answered a question from
somebody within, Ashe had a glimpse of glass-topped cases.
Could this be the museum--his goal? The next moment the door,
opening a few inches more, revealed the outlying portions of an
Egyptian mummy and brought certainty. It flashed across Ashe's
mind that the sooner he explored the museum and located Mr.
Peters' scarab, the better. He decided to ask Beach to take him
there as soon as he had leisure.
Meantime the young man had closed the museum door and was
crossing the hall. He was a wiry-haired, severe-looking young
man, with a sharp nose and eyes that gleamed through rimless
spectacles--none other, in fact than Lord Emsworth's private
secretary, the Efficient Baxter. Ashe hailed him:
"I say, old man, would you mind telling me how I get to Mr.
Peters' room? I've lost my bearings."
He did not reflect that this was hardly the way in which valets
in the best society addressed their superiors. That is the worst
of adopting what might be called a character part. One can manage
the business well enough; it is the dialogue that provides the
pitfalls.
Mr. Baxter would have accorded a hearty agreement to the
statement that this was not the way in which a valet should have
spoken to him; but at the moment he was not aware that Ashe was a
valet. From his easy mode of address he assumed that he was one
of the numerous guests who had been arriving at the castle all
day. As he had asked for Mr. Peters, he fancied that Ashe must be
the Honorable Freddie's American friend, George Emerson, whom he
had not yet met. Consequently he replied with much cordiality
that Mr. Peters' room was the second at the left on the second
floor.
He said Ashe could not miss it. Ashe said he was much obliged.
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