Chapter Ten

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.