There was a sound of steps outside, and the sudden thud of a heavy weight on the ground. "Here 'i is," said the landlord. The door swung open, and Mr. Bates, looking up, saw a man enter. He was a pale-faced, sandy-haired individual, with a sharp nose, watery eyes, and a general air of somewhat dissipated insolence. "Good 'evenin', gentlemen all," he remarked. "Hallo, Potter! Give me message to Horniman?" "That's all right, Mr. Andrew," answered the landlord. "There's a room upstairs if you want one. I'll send George along to get your box in." "Wot's the meanin' of all this 'ere bust up?" inquired the red-whiskered man, as the new-comer settled himself down with a large glass of Hollands in front of him. Mr. Andrew laughed with a fine assumption of independence. "Jest got sick of the old swine, and told 'im so," he replied. "Nearly 'ad a fit when I gave 'im notice." "Must 'a' bin a blow to 'im," said the postman. "Did you get your last week's wages?" Mr. Andrew looked across coldly. "He offered me a cheque," he said, "but I told 'im to keep it and get 'is 'air cut." "And then you woke up, I s'pose," added the postman. "What'll the Professor do without you, Mr. Andrew?" inquired the landlord, anxious to relieve the somewhat strained situation. "Have to look after 'imself for a day or two, I 'ope, and I've left some work for 'im, I'll warrant you. There's all yesterday's things unwashed, 'is rotten old boots dirty, the stores mixed up, and every window and door in the place unfastened. I only 'ope," he added viciously, "as some tramp'll come along and clean out the whole place before 'e finds out! I'd 'alf a mind to chalk up a notice on the gate opposite, sayin' that the kitchen windows at The Firs was unlatched, and that there was plenty of grub and drink for any one who chose to walk in and 'elp themselves." In the laughter that followed this spirited harangue, Mr. Bates turned to his next-door neighbour, a quiet man who had not spoken yet, and inquired in a subdued voice: "The Firs? Ain't that the house I passed coming along--a little white place standing back on the left?" "That's it, mate," answered the other. "Professor Stenson's. Andrew 'ere was 'is servant." "Seems to me," observed the gentleman with gaiters, addressing the hero of the evening, "as you've got your own back out of him." Mr. Andrew grinned complacently. "I don't believe in bein' put on," he admitted. "One man's as good as another, I say, and I like to be treated with proper respect." "And not kicked out of the 'ouse, like a thief, at a minute's notice," added the postman. There was a moment of unpleasant silence. "If you're trying to insinooate--" began Mr. Andrew hotly.