He debated the best method of getting in touch with him. It was
out of the question to descend to the pantry or wherever it was
that his father lived in this new incarnation of his. Then the
happy thought struck him that results might be obtained by the
simple process of ringing the bell. It might produce some other
unit of the domestic staff. However, it was worth trying. He rang
the bell.
A few moments later the door opened. Jimmy looked up. It was not
his father. It was a dangerous-looking female of uncertain age,
dressed as a parlour-maid, who eyed him with what seemed to his
conscience-stricken soul dislike and suspicion. She had a
tight-lipped mouth and beady eyes beneath heavy brows. Jimmy had
seldom seen a woman who attracted him less at first sight.
"Jer ring, S'?"
Jimmy blinked and almost ducked. The words had come at him like a
projectile.
"Oh, ah, yes."
"J' want anything, s'?"
With an effort Jimmy induced his mind to resume its interrupted
equilibrium.
"Oh, ah, yes. Would you mind sending Skinner the butler to me."
"Y's'r."
The apparition vanished. Jimmy drew out his handkerchief and
dabbed at his forehead. He felt weak and guilty. He felt as if he
had just been accused of nameless crimes and had been unable to
deny the charge. Such was the magic of Miss Trimble's eye--the
left one, which looked directly at its object. Conjecture pauses
baffled at the thought of the effect which her gaze might have
created in the breasts of the sex she despised, had it been
double instead of single-barrelled.
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