"Dear me," said the Professor, turning his head away, "dear me!"
There was a short pause, during which Mr. Bates began mechanically to
wash up. The Professor sat in silence while plate after plate was
cleaned and put aside. When both piles were finished, he looked up
at the small clock which was ticking away on the mantelpiece. The
time was about five-and-twenty minutes to seven.
"It is a little early for breakfast," he remarked, "but I think that,
as you are here, Mr. Bates, I will take advantage of the fact by
getting you to cook me some eggs and bacon. There ought to be
plenty, unless Andrew has excelled himself."
"Yes, sir," said Mr. Bates.
The Professor went out into the larder, returning almost immediately
with the required provisions.
"If you will cook these," he said, "I will go on with laying the
table."
"Oh, don't you trouble, sir--I can do it, sir," protested Mr. Bates.
"Please do what you are asked, Mr. Bates. And you might make some
tea at the same time; the canister is on the shelf above you."
"Yes, sir."
"And bring it all into the kitchen as soon as it is ready."
"Yes, sir."
The fragrant smell of the hissing eggs and bacon was the most
exquisite torture to Mr. Bates. An agonised longing to seize some of
the food and stuff it into his mouth almost dazed him with its
intensity. Nevertheless, he firmly proceeded with his task, turning
out a succulent steaming dish, just cooked to precisely the right
point. Then he made the tea, and taking down a plate which he had
put to warm, placed the whole lot upon a tray, and carried it into
the kitchen. The Professor was sitting at the table, which was laid
for two.
"Excellent," he said, taking off the cover and looking at the
contents. "But how is this--you have only brought one hot plate?"
"I thought that was all you would require, sir."
"But there is yourself, Mr. Bates. I laid a place for you under the
impression that you were hungry."
"Oh, sir," said Mr. Bates, with a little gasp, "if I may have
something outside, sir! I--I should hardly like to sit down with
you, sir."
The Professor raised his eyebrows again. "Really, Mr. Bates, a
little more self-respect, if you please. You must remember that you
are a burglar now, not a valet."
"Yes, sir."
Mr. Bates seated himself in the second chair, and the Professor,
whose appetite seemed suddenly to have vanished, helped him to about
seven-eighths of the eggs and bacon. Mr. Bates fell upon them with
as much ferocity as his professional refinement would permit.
The Professor handed him a cup of tea, and after watching him for a
minute, got up and walked to where a telephone was fastened to the
wall. He took off the receiver.
"Are you there?" he said. "Please put me on to the London Exchange.
Yes, thank you. Don't you bother, Mr. Bates, go on with your
breakfast. Is that the Exchange? I want 400 City. Yes. Help
yourself to some more tea when you want it, Mr. Bates. Are you
there? Is that Scotland Yard? Professor Stenson. Would you ask
Inspector Green to come to the telephone? All right. You will find
some marmalade in the white pot, Mr. Bates. Is that you, Green?
Yes. I want you to do something for me. It's just to look up the
record of a man named William Bates, who was bound over at--where was
it, Mr. Bates?--ah--Marylebone, on--what date?--May 7th. I should
like to have any information you possess."
He turned and contemplated Mr. Bates, who was staring at him with his
mouth open.
"Wonderful invention, the telephone, isn't it, Mr. Bates?" he
remarked. "It keeps us so in touch with the actual facts of
existence. But don't let my private business interfere with your
breakfast. You must be hungry after your somewhat uncomfortable
night."
Mr. Bates said nothing. He seemed content to stare and eat.
Another minute or two elapsed. "Yes, I'm here," said the Professor
suddenly, turning again to the instrument. "Thanks." A pause.
"What--what's that?" Another and longer pause. "Oh, thanks very
much. Yes, that's all. I shall probably see you Wednesday. I hope
to look in about that Stevenson case. Yes. Good-bye."
He hung up the receiver.
"Well, Mr. Bates," said he, approaching the table, "it appears that
you have spoken the truth."
Mr. Bates gulped down his last mouthful.
"Yes, sir," he said.
The Professor eyed him for a moment severely.
"It is, of course, my duty," he said, "to hand you over to the law."
"Yes, sir."
"But, being opposed to carrying duty to too logical an extreme, I am
prepared to make you an alternative offer. If you would care to take
the place of the professionally defunct Mr. Andrew, I am willing to
give you a trial. Your work would be to devote the same care and
skill to my comfort that you doubtless bestowed upon the late Mr.
Houghton. Your wages will be fifty pounds a year, and I shall give
you a fortnight's holiday."
For a naturally reserved and properly trained servant, Mr. Bates's
response was unpardonable. Rising to his feet, he staggered round
the table, and falling on his knees in front of the Professor, began
feebly groping for the latter's hand. He was sobbing so loudly that
it was difficult to hear what he said. It sounded like:
"Thank you--oh, thank you, sir! God bless you, sir!"
For the third time the Professor raised his eyebrows.
"Really, Bates," he said, "a little more self-control, if you please.
You must remember that you are a valet now, not a burglar."