"I wish to know," he began, "whether I may, or may not, wash my
hands----"
"You may decidedly," said Mr. Blake. "I'll ring for the waiter."
"----of certain responsibilities," pursued Betteredge, impenetrably
declining to see anybody in the room but himself and me. "As to Miss
Verinder's sitting-room, to begin with. When we took up the carpet
last year, Mr. Jennings, we found a surprising quantity of pins. Am I
responsible for putting back the pins?"
"Certainly not."
Betteredge made a note of that concession, on the spot.
"As to the first corridor next," he resumed. "When we moved
the ornaments in that part, we moved a statue of a fat naked
child--profanely described in the catalogue of the house as 'Cupid,
god of Love.' He had two wings last year, in the fleshy part of his
shoulders. My eye being off him, for the moment, he lost one of them. Am
I responsible for Cupid's wing?"
I made another concession, and Betteredge made another note.
"As to the second corridor," he went on. "There having been nothing in
it, last year, but the doors of the rooms (to every one of which I can
swear, if necessary), my mind is easy, I admit, respecting that part of
the house only.
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