Part 45 (1/2)

”Not a soul? You are certain?”

”Perfectly certain, sir.”

The cold voice of the butler sounded surprised, almost resentful. The Professor flung out his hand towards the cage.

”Has the bird been here the whole time?”

”Yes, sir.”

”He was not moved, taken elsewhere, even for a moment?”

Pitting's pale face began to look almost expressive, and his lips were pursed.

”Certainly not, sir.”

”Thank you. That will do.”

The butler retired, moving with a sort of ostentatious rect.i.tude. When he had reached the door, and was just going out, his master called,

”Wait a minute, Pitting.”

The butler paused. Guildea bit his lips, tugged at his beard uneasily two or three times, and then said,

”Have you noticed--er--the parrot talking lately in a--a very peculiar, very disagreeable voice?”

”Yes, sir--a soft voice like, sir.”

”Ha! Since when?”

”Since you went away, sir. He's always at it.”

”Exactly. Well, and what did you think of it?”

”Beg pardon, sir?”

”What do you think about his talking in this voice?”

”Oh, that it's only his play, sir.”

”I see. That's all, Pitting.”

The butler disappeared and closed the door noiselessly behind him.

Guildea turned his eyes on his friend.

”There, you see!” he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed.

”It's certainly very odd,” said the Father. ”Very odd indeed. You are certain you have no maid who talks at all like that?”

”My dear Murchison! Would you keep a servant with such a voice about you for two days?”

”No.”