“I am sorry, Madam, if you were expecting to go. Inspector Dalzell has arrived
and would like to speak to you. Will you step into one of these rooms? Not the
library, but any other. He will come to you as quickly as he can.”
I tried to carry it off bravely and as if I saw nothing in this summons which
was unique or alarming. But I succeeded only in dividing a wavering glance
between him and the group of men of which he had just formed a part. In the
latter were several gentlemen whom I had noted in Mrs. Fairbrother’s train
early in the evening and a few strangers, two of whom were officials. Mr.
Durand was with the former, and his expression did not encourage me.
“The affair is very serious,” commented the detective on leaving me. “That’s
our excuse for any trouble we may be putting you to.” I clutched my uncle’s
arm.
“Where shall we go?” I asked. “The drawing-room is too large. In this hall my
eyes are for ever traveling in the direction of the alcove. Don’t you know some
little room? Oh, what, what can he want of me?”
“Nothing serious, nothing important,” blustered my good uncle. “Some triviality
such as you can answer in a moment. A little room? Yes, I know one, there,
under the stairs. Come, I will find the door for you. Why did we ever come to
this wretched ball?”