Mr. Shinner pushed away the accusation with both hands.  “Madam, madam, I shall take all the risks.  I should not dream, now, of asking for a cheque on account.  On the contrary, I should guarantee a percentage of the gross receipts.  Perhaps I am unwise to take risks—­I dare say I am—­but I could not bear to see your husband in the hands of another agent.  We professional men have our feelings.”

“Don’t cry, Mr. Shinner,” said Audrey impulsively.  It was not a proper remark to make, but the sudden impetuous entrance of Musa himself, carrying his violin case, eased the situation.

“There is a man which is asking for you outside in the corridor,” said Musa to his wife.  “It is the gardener, Aguilar, I think.  I have brought all the luggage, not excluding that which was lost at Hamburg.”  He had a glorious air, and was probably more proud of his still improving English and of his ability as a courier than of his triumphs on the fiddle.  “Ah!” Mr. Shinner was bowing before him.

“This is Mr. Shinner, the agent, my love,” said Audrey.  “I’ll leave you to talk to him.  He sees money in you.”

In the passage the authentic Aguilar stood with Miss Ingate.

“Here’s Mr. Aguilar,” said Miss Ingate.  “I’m just going into No. 37, Madame Piriac’s room.  Don’t you think Mr. Aguilar looks vehy odd in London?”

“Good morning, Aguilar.  You in town on business?”

Aguilar touched his forehead.  It is possible that he looked very odd in London, but he was wearing a most respectable new suit of clothes, and might well have passed for a land agent.

“‘Mornin’, ma’am.  I had to come up because I couldn’t get delivery of those wallpapers you chose.  Otherwise all the repairs and alterations are going on as well as could be expected.”

“And how is your wife, Aguilar?”

“She’s nicely, thank ye, ma’am.  I pointed out to the foreman that it would be a mistake to make the dining-room door open the other way, as the architect suggested.  But he would do it.  However, I’ve told you, ma’am.  It’ll only have to be altered back.  Perhaps I ought to tell you that I took the liberty of taking a fortnight’s holiday, ma’am.  It’s the only holiday I ever did take, except the annual day off for the Colchester Rose Show, which is perhaps more a matter of business with a head gardener than a holiday, as ye might say.  My wife wanted me in London.”

“She’s not caught yet?”

“No’m.  And I don’t think as she will be, not with me about.  I never did allow myself to be bossed by police, and I always been too much for ’em.  And as I’m on the matter, ma’am, I should like to give you notice as soon as it’s convenient.  I wouldn’t leave on any account till that foreman’s off the place; he’s no better than a fool.  But as soon afterwards as you like.”

“Certainly, Aguilar.  I was quite expecting it.  Where are you going to live?”

“Well, ma’am, I’ve got hold of a little poultry run business in the north of London.  It’ll be handy for Holloway in case—­And Jane asked me to give you this letter, ma’am.  I see her this morning.”