Personally I'd rather call in an undertaker who was
desperately hard up for a job."
"All right, Williams," Enid replied. "My sister is worse to-night. And
unless she gets better I shall insist upon her seeing a doctor. And I am
obliged for the hint about Mr. Henson. The little study commands the
staircase leading to my sister's bedroom."
"And the open window commands the garden," Williams said, drily.
"Yes, yes. Now go. You are a real friend, Williams, and I will never
forget your goodness. Run along--I can actually _feel_ that man coming."
As a matter of fact, Henson was approaching noiselessly. Despite his
great bulk he had the clean, dainty step of a cat; his big, rolling ears
were those of a hare. Henson was always listening. He would have listened
behind a kitchen door to a pair of chattering scullery-maids. He liked to
find other people out, though as yet he had not been found out himself.
He stood before the world as a social missioner; he made speeches at
religious gatherings and affected the women to tears. He was known to
devote a considerable fortune to doing good; he had been asked to stand
for Parliament, where his real ambition lay.
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