The Countess of Moron, Lois discovered, had one amiable weakness; it
was for jigsaw puzzles, which were made especially for her--pictures
in greys and blues and elusive shades which would have driven an
ordinary puzzle expert to despair. They were cut in tiny pieces, and
her ladyship would spend hours before the big table in the library,
putting them together. This she confessed at luncheon, and it was the
first time that Lois had seen the human side of her employer. In the
main the conversation was confined to the two women, Lord Moron being
in the party, but not of it. When he spoke, as occasionally he did,
his mother either ignored him or answered him in monosyllables. And
apparently he was used to such treatment, which he did not seem to
resent. The only servant present throughout the meal was the butler,
Braime, for whom Lois conceived an instant dislike. He was a man with
a forbidding face, sparing of speech, and though he was polite enough,
there was something about his height and bulk which produced in the
girl a sensation of uneasiness.
“You don’t like Braime, Miss Reddle?” asked the countess, when the man
was momentarily absent from the room.
Lois marvelled at the intuition of her employer, and answered
laughingly:
“I don’t know whether I like him or not.”
“He is a very satisfactory person,” said the countess in her majestic
manner. “I like tall servants, and the fact that he is unpleasant
looking is an advantage. None of my callers will try to steal him. In
society one finds one’s best servants so frequently enticed away by
people who pretend they are one’s friends.”
It was then that she told of her passion for jigsaw puzzles.
“Braime is very helpful and quite clever at that sort of thing, and I
have frequently had to call on him for help.”
“Have you had him long?”
“Some six months. He was recommended to me by some people anxious to
reform criminals,” was the startling thing she added.
Lois nearly jumped from her chair.
“You mean that he has been in prison?” she asked, bewildered.
Lady Moron inclined her head in a stately agreement.
“Yes, I believe he has been in prison for some foolish
offence--stealing silver, I think. I have given him a new start, and
the man is grateful.” When the butler returned, Lois gave him a more
careful, if more furtive, scrutiny. Despite his powerful physique, he
moved with a gentle, almost feline tread and his big clumsy hands
manipulated the delicate china with a dexterity which was surprising.
Partly to her amusement, but more to her embarrassment, Lois found
that a maid had been allocated to her--a fresh-faced country girl who
had been recruited from her ladyship’s own village in Berkshire. For
the Earls of Moron were wealthy landowners, and Moron House, near
Newbury, was one of the show places of the county.
The maid had all the loquacity of her kind, and Lois had not been very
long in her room before she learnt that her distrust of the butler was
generally felt throughout the servants’ quarters.
“He’s always prying and spying, miss,” said the maid. “He’s just like
a great cat, the way he walks; you can’t hear him until he’s behind
you. And us servants are not good enough for him. He has all his meals
in his pantry, and whenever we get a new servant here he watches her
as if she was a mouse. I wonder her ladyship stands such an ugly,
bad-tempered man about the house.”
“Is he very bad-tempered?” asked Lois.
“Well,” admitted the girl with reluctance, “I can’t exactly say that.
But he looks bad-tempered,” she said triumphantly, “and you can always
judge a man on his looks. Her ladyship took a lot of trouble about
you, miss.”
“About me?” said Lois in surprise.
The girl nodded.
“She had these chairs put in for you and chose your bed, and--hullo,
what’s this? Is this yours, miss?”
She had pulled open the empty drawer of a bureau, and now she held in
her hand a large cabinet photograph. Lois took it from her; it was the
picture of a young man; she judged him to be in the early twenties. He
was singularly good-looking, and there was about the face something
that was vaguely familiar.
“I don’t know how that got there,” said the chattering girl. “I
cleared these drawers out myself yesterday. Her ladyship must have
brought it up and left it.”
Lois saw, though it was only a bust photograph, that the young man
wore the uniform of a Highland regiment, and she tried to recall the
badge. As a child she had been interested in regimental insignia.
“He’s good-looking, isn’t he, miss?”
“Very good-looking,” said the girl. “I wonder who he is?”
“We’ve got lots of photographs in the house and nobody knows who they
are. Her ladyship collects them,” said the girl.
“I will take it down to Lady Moron,” said Lois.
She found the countess sitting with her head in her hands before a
half-completed puzzle picture.
“Where was that? In your room?”
Lady Moron took the photograph from her hand, looked at it
disparagingly and dropped it into a table drawer.
“He was a boy I knew some many years ago,” she said, and did not
trouble to discuss how the photograph had appeared in Lois’ room.
Lois went back to her own room. It was a sunny afternoon and rather
warm. The long windows were open and one of these led on to a small
stone balcony, one of the many which ornamented the front of the
house. Across the window opening, however, was a light wooden gate
which barred access to the inviting place.
“We’re not allowed to go out on the balconies in the daytime,” said
the girl. “Her ladyship is very particular about that.”
“Does that apply to me?”
“Oh yes, miss,” said the girl. “Her ladyship doesn’t go out on to her
own balcony, except in the evenings. Nobody is allowed out by day.”
Lois was wondering what induced the eccentric countess to prohibit a
very pleasant lounging place during the day.
The afternoon post brought a number of letters, which, contrary to
Lady Moron’s express principles, had to be answered that afternoon,
and she was busy until an hour before dinner. And then the stately
lady made a suggestion for which the girl was very grateful.
“If you have any girl friend you would like to ask to tea you may--any
afternoon I am out. To-morrow will be a free evening for you. I shall
be going out to dinner.”
That night, before she retired to her comfortable bed, she wrote a
long letter to Lizzy Smith and posted it herself, and Lizzy’s reply
was characteristically prompt. Lois was eating a solitary breakfast
the next morning when a footman came in to say that she was wanted on
the telephone. It was Lizzy.
“That you, kid? I’ll be coming along to-night. Are you sending the
car, or am I taking the old No. 14? Don’t dress for me; I’m a plain
woman without any side.”
“Don’t be silly, Lizzy. I shall be all alone and expecting you.”
“What sort of a crib is it?” asked Lizzy.
“Very nice, very nice, indeed,” said Lois, but without any enthusiasm.
“Only there isn’t enough work to do.”
“‘Only’ is not the word you want, it’s ‘and,’” said Lizzy. “What is
coming over you, Lois? Find me a job without work--here’s old
Rattlebones!”--the latter in a lower tone told Lois that the girl was
telephoning from the office and that the managing clerk had arrived.
Lady Moron and her son had gone out to dinner and a theatre party, and
Lois was alone when the girl came.
“This is certainly great,” said Lizzy in a slow tone, as she looked
round the resplendent dining-room. “That big chap’s the butler, I
suppose? I can’t say that I like his face, but he can’t help that. How
many courses do you have?” she asked, after the third course. “My
doctor says I mustn’t take more than six.”
Following dinner the two girls went up to Lois’ room and Lizzy sat
down to stare and admire.
“I always thought these sort of jobs didn’t exist outside of good
books,” she said. “I mean the books they give you for Sunday School
prizes. You’ve certainly rung the bell this time, Lois!”
“It seems too good to be true, doesn’t it?” laughed Lois.
“You haven’t seen _him_, I suppose?”
“You mean Mr. Dorn? Yes, I saw him this morning. He was walking up and
down Chester Square. And Lizzy, he’s a detective.”
Lizzy’s eyes lit up.
“A real detective?” she said, in an awestricken tone. “And I thought
he was the other way about--that he was one of the people detectives
catch. What did he say, Lois?”
The girl shook her head.
“I didn’t speak to him. I only saw him through the window. Lizzy, I’m
so worried and puzzled about it all--and he’s such a queer man! The
things he _could_ have said when I collided with his car!”
“I don’t know why you need be worried,” said the philosophical Lizzy.
“Even detectives have their feelings. There was one married the other
day--I saw a bit in the paper about it. And some of them are quite
respectable men.” She looked up suddenly.
“What is it?” asked Lois.
“I thought I heard footsteps outside the door.”
Lois walked to the door and threw it open. The corridor was empty.
“What made you think there was somebody there?”
Lizzy shook her head.
“I don’t know,” she said vaguely, “only I’ve got sharp ears, and if
they weren’t slippers moving on a carpet, I’ve never heard ’em!”
Lois closed the door and sat down on the bed.
“Lizzy, I’m going to tell you something,” she said, and the interest
of Miss Elizabetta Smith quickened.
“Ah!” she said, drawing a long breath. “I knew you’d tell me sooner or
later. But, my dear, it won’t be any news to me. He is one of the
nicest men I’ve ever met----”
“What on earth are you talking about?” demanded Lois, aghast. “Are you
thinking of that wretched Mr. Dorn?”
“Well, what else have you got to tell me?” demanded Lizzy indignantly;
and Lois, in spite of the seriousness of the subject she was about to
broach, fell into an uncontrollable fit of silent laughter.
“My dear, I can’t tell you now, not--not in this mood,” said Lois.
“You poor little matchmaker! Mr. Dorn is probably married, with a
large family. We won’t talk about him either.” Then, as a thought
struck her: “Would you like to see this wicked city by night, with all
its lights? I’ll show you.” She walked to the French windows and
opened them. “This little balcony is forbidden territory by day, but
it is rather wonderful now, isn’t it?”
She stepped out on to the balcony and, walking to the balustrade,
rested her hand upon the broad parapet, looking down into the street,
which seemed a terribly long way below. And even as she did so, she
felt the balcony sag slowly beneath her.
She turned in a fright and leapt towards the window; but at that
minute there was a loud crack, and the stone floor dropped suddenly
beneath her.