The poor fellow had suffered tortures from the degradation of his
master's alliance with a commoner like Kedzie until Kedzie developed
her alliance with the Marquess. Then his valetic soul expanded again.
He looked upon her as his salvation.
Over the telephone she heard him now promising Jim that he would
not tell Kedzie. If Jim's old valet, Jules, had not gone to France
and his death he would have saved Jim from infernal distresses, but
this substitute had a malignant interest in his master's confusion.
Dallam proceeded forthwith to rap at Mrs. Dyckman's door and spoke
through it, deferentially:
"Beg pardon, ma'am, but could I have a word?"
Kedzie wrapped herself in a bath-robe and opened the door a chink to
hear the rest of what she had heard in part. The valet had no collar
on and his overnight beard not off, and he, too, was in a bath-robe.
Man and mistress stood there like genius and madness, "and thin
partitions did their bounds divide."
"Very sorry to trouble you, ma'am," he said, "but I'm compelled to.
The master has just telephoned me that his car broke down at the
Viewcrest Inn out Tiverton way, and he wants his morning clothes,
and also--if you'll pardon me, ma'am--he instructed me to send him
a long motor-coat of yours and a large hat and your limousine. I was
directed not to--ahem--to trouble you about it, ma'am, but I 'ardly
dared."
He helped her out so perfectly that she had no need to say anything
more than, "Quite right.
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