"Six o'clock. Get me my salad." "I saw that detective today, sir--Mr. Smith." "Get me my salad!" Chicken salad was his invariable meal at the close of day. Binny served him, but could do nothing right. If he spoke he was told to be quiet; if he relapsed into silence old Hervey cursed him for his sulkiness. He had cleared away the meal, put a cup of weak tea before his master, and was leaving him to doze, when Lyne called him back. "What are Cassari Oils?" he demanded. It was so long since Binny had read the fluctua…
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