Within a week he was completely at home in his new surroundings.  Collins, in fact, was the perfect “gentleman’s servant” and thus he liked always to think himself.  Many a word he and Borkins had over their master’s likes and dislikes.  But invariably Collins won out.  While every other servant in the place liked him and trusted him, the sight of his honest, red face and his ginger eyebrows was enough to make Borkins look like a thundercloud.

The climax was reached one night in the autumn when the evening papers failed to appear at their appointed time.  Collins confronted Borkins with the fact and got snubbed for his pains.

“’Ere you,” he said—­he hadn’t much respect for Borkins and made no attempt to hide the fact—­“what the dooce ’as become of his lordship’s pypers?  ’Ave you bin ‘avin’ a squint at ’em, ole pieface?  Jist like your bloomin’ cheek!”

“Not so much of your impidence, Mr. Collins,” retorted Borkins.  “When you h’addresses a gentleman try to remember ’ow to speak to ’im.  I’ve ’ad nothink whatever to do with Sir Nigel’s evenin’ papers, and you know it.  If they’re late, well, wouldn’t it be worth your while to go down to the station and ’ave a gentle word or two with one of the officials there?”

“Oh well, then, old Fiddlefyce,” retorted Collins, with a good-natured grin, “don’t lose yer wool over it; you ain’t got any ter spare.  ’Is Lordship’s been a-arskin’ fer ’em, and like as not they ain’t turned up.  Let’s see what’s the time?  ’Arf-past eight.”  He shook his bullet-shaped head.  “Well, I’ll be doin’ as you say.  Slap on me ’at and jacket and myke off ter the blinkin’ stytion.  What’s the shortest w’y, Borkins, me beauty?”

Borkins looked at him a moment, and his face went a dull brick colour.  Then he smirked sarcastically.

“Like as not you’re so brave you wouldn’t mind goin’ across the Fens,” he said.  “Them there flames wouldn’t be scarin’ such a ’ero as Mr. James Collins.  Oh no!  You’ll find it a mile or so less than the three miles by road.  It’s the shortest cut, but I don’t recommend it.  ’Owever, that lies with you.  I’ll tell Sir Nigel where you’re gone if ’e asks me, you may be sure!”

“Orl right!  Across the Fens is the shortest, you says.  Well, I’ll try it ternight and see.  You’re right fer once.  I ain’t afraid.  It tykes more’n twiddley little bits er lights ter scare James Collins, I tells yer.  So long.”

Borkins, standing at the window in the dining room and peering through the dusk at Collins’ sturdy figure as it swung past him down the drive, bit his lip a moment, and made as if to go after him.

“No, I’ll be danged if I do!” he said suddenly.  “If ’e knows such a lot, well, let ’im take the risk.  I warned ’im anyhow, so I’ve done my bit.  The flames’ll do the rest.”  And he laughed.

But James Collins did not come back, when he ought to have done, and the evening papers arrived before him, brought by the station-master’s son Jacob.  Jacob had seen nothing of Collins, and Merriton, who did not know that the man had gone on this errand, made no remark when the hours went slowly by, and no sign of Collins appeared.