Harris, wrinkled as a sweetbread and thin as an umbrella, blinked at
Cassy. "Mr. Lennox is out, mem."
"Then go and fetch him."
Past the servant, Cassy forced her way through the vestibule, into the
sitting-room, where the usual gloom abided, but where, unusually, were a
smell of camphor, two overcoats, two trunks and a bag.
Cassy, putting down the bundle, exclaimed at them. "He is not leaving
town?"
"Yes, mem, to-morrow morning, for Mineola." He spoke grudgingly, looking
as he spoke like a little old mule at bay.
Cassy, noticing that, said: "See here, I don't mean to bully you, but it
is most important that I should see Mr. Lennox--important for him, do
you hear?"
"I hear you, mem, but I don't know where he is."
"Then find out. There must be a telephone."
Harris scratched his head but otherwise he did nothing.
"Come!" Cassy told him. "Hurry!"
Harris shifted. "I don't know as how he'd like it. He's been that upset
these last few days. I----" He hesitated. Visibly an idea had visited
him with which he was grappling. "You're not from Miss Austen, now, are
you?"
Cassy caught at it. To confirm it would be fanciful. To deny it would be
extravagant. Choosing an in-between for the benefit of this servant whom
she knew to be English, she produced it.
"I am the Viscountess of Casa-Evora."
Harris wiped his mouth. A viscountess who had come only the other day
with a bundle, and who now forced her way in with another bundle, did
not coincide with such knowledge as he had of the nobility. But she was
certainly overbearing enough to be anybody.