Wolf felt an absurd, an almost sentimental desire to lay his hand on his employer’s head and adjust that unnatural parting. So it was a wig he wore, after all; at least some of it was a wig!

Jason bent down still lower over the book, holding the pages back with two of his fingers while his lips mutely repeated the paragraph he had chanced upon.

“I hope you haven’t brought me into this history of yours,” he remarked, after a pause. “I don’t like to be abused any better than Mr. Urquhart does.” He straightened himself and placed his hands behind his back. “I expect,” he went on, “I wouldn’t have talked to you like that, Mr. Urquhart, if you hadn’t given me your best wine. For your second-best wine I’d probably have flattered you as much as Solent does!”