He had a large, clear eye, but the veil which hid the brightness of
his regard was misty with suspicion, not with tears. He appeared
to shrink from observation, and shifted uneasily as long as I stood
in front of him, though he said nothing and did not lift his eyes
from the letter he was perusing till he heard me step back to the
door I had purposely left open and softly close it. Then he glanced
up, with a keen, if not an alarmed look, which seemed an exaggerated
one for the occasion, - that is, if he had no secret to keep.
"Do you suffer so from drafts?" he asked, rising in a way which in
itself was a dismissal.
I smiled an amused denial, then with the simple directness I thought
most likely to win me his confidence, entered straight upon my
business in these plain words:
"Pardon me, Mr. Jeffrey, I have something to say which is not exactly
fitted for the ears of servants." Then, as he pushed his chair
suddenly back, I added reassuringly: "It is not a police matter, sir,
but an entirely personal one. It may strike you as important, and it
may not. Mr. Jeffrey, I was the man who made the unhappy discovery in
the Moore mansion, which has plunged this house into mourning."
This announcement startled him and produced a visible change in his
manner.
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