Part 21 (1/2)

”I have, old fellow,” said I, immensely relieved by his perspicuity.

”I ought to get off five or six very important letters to--”

He interrupted me with a genial wave of his hand. ”Run along and get 'em off,” he said. ”Don't mind me. I'll look over the magazines.”

Ten minutes later I was sneaking up the interminable stairways in the sepulchral east wing, lighting and relighting a tallow candle with grim patience at every other landing and luridly berating the drafts that swept the pa.s.sages. Mr. p.o.o.pend.y.k.e stood guard below at the padlocked doors, holding the keys. He was to await my signal to reopen them, but he was not to release me under any circ.u.mstance if snoopers were abroad.

My secretary was vastly disturbed by the news I imparted. He was so startled that he forgot to tell me that he wouldn't spend another night on a pile of rugs with Britton as a bed-fellow, an omission which gave Britton the opportunity to antic.i.p.ate him by _almost_ giving notice that very night. (The upshot of it was the hasty acquisition of two brand new iron beds the next day, and the restoration of peace in my domestic realm.)

Somewhat timorously I knocked at the Countess's door. I realised that it was a most unseemly hour for calling on a young, beautiful and unprotected lady, but the exigencies of the moment lent moral support to my invasion.

After waiting five minutes and then knocking again so loudly that the sound reverberated through the empty halls with a sickening clatter, I heard some one fumbling with the bolts. The door opened an inch OF two.

The Countess's French maid peered out at me.

”Tell your mistress that I must see her at once.”

”Madame is not at home, m'sieur,” said the young woman.

”Not at home?” I gasped. ”Where is she?”

”Madame has gone to bed.”

”Oh,” I said, blinking. ”Then she _is_ at home. Present my compliments and ask her to get up. Something very exasperating has hap--”

”Madame has request me to inform m'sieur that she knows the Count is here, and will you be so good as to call to-morrow morning.”

”What! She knows he's here? Who brought the information?”

”The bountiful Max, m'sieur. He bring it with _dejeuner_, again with _diner_, and but now with the hot water, m'sieur.”

”Oh, I see,” said I profoundly. ”In that case, I--I sha'n't disturb her. How--er--how did she take it?”

She gave me a severely reproachful look.

”She took it as usual, m'sieur. In that dreadful little tin tub old Conrad--”

”Good heavens, girl! I mean the news--the news about the Count.”

”Mon dieu! I thought m'sieur refer to--But yes! She take it beautifully.

I too mean the news. Madame is not afraid. Has she not the good, brave m'sieur to--what you call it--to shoulder all the worry, no? She is not alarm. She reads m'sieur's latest book in bed, smoke the cigarette, and she say what the divil do she care.”

”What!”

”Non, non! I, Helene Marie Louise Antoinette, say it for Madame. Pardon!

Pardon, m'sieur! It is I who am wicked.”

Very stiffly and ceremoniously I advised caution for the next twelve hours, and saying good night to Helene Marie Louise Antoinette in an unintentionally complimentary whisper, took myself off down the stairs, pursued by an equally subdued _bon soir_ which made me feel like a soft-stepping Lothario.

Now it may occur to you that any self-respecting gentleman in possession of a castle and a grain of common sense would have set about to find out the true names of the guests beneath his roof. The task would have been a simple one, there is no doubt of that. A peremptory command with a rigid alternative would have brought out the truth in a jiffy.

But it so happens that I rather enjoyed the mystery. The situation was unique, the comedy most exhilarating. Of course, there was a tragic side to the whole matter, but now that I was in for it, why minimise the novelty by adopting arbitrary measures? Three minutes of stern conversation with Elsie Hazzard would enlighten me on all the essential points; perhaps half an hour would bring p.o.o.pend.y.k.e to terms; a half a day might be required in the brow-beating of the frail Countess.