Thrimby stiffened. "Indeed, madam? I am exceedingly sorry to hear it, and I can assure you -"
"I'm not accusing you of having stolen it! The safetycatch is loose, and it must have come undone. I am merely telling you that it is somewhere in the house, and must be found, when the rooms are swept in the morning."
"Certainly, madam. I will myself inform the maids," said Thrimby, preparing to descend again into the basement.
The drawing-room was empty when he presently brought up the cocktail-tray, but while he was still straightening cushions, and tidying the hearth, Mrs. Haddington came down from the second floor. There was a frown between her brows; she said: "Do you know if Miss Cynthia went out, Thrimby?"
"I couldn't say, madam."
"She didn't ask you to call her a taxi, or anything?"
"No, madam. I haven't seen Miss Cynthia."
"Oh, well, perhaps she's sitting in the boudoir!" said Mrs. Haddington, with more hope than conviction. She had found abundant signs in her daughter's bedroom of a rapid change of costume, and although it was possible that Cynthia had changed into a dinner-dress suitable for an evening to be spent at home, it seemed more likely that she had sallied forth in her new and daring cocktailfrock to attend the forbidden party.
The boudoir was in darkness. Mrs. Haddington closed the door, found that Thrimby had followed her down the stairs, and said: "I think Miss Cynthia must have gone out. Tell Gaston I won't wait dinner for her, if she isn't back by eight o'clock. Oh, good God, who can this be?"
"Shall I say that you are not at home, madam?" Thrimby asked, preparing to descend to the hall, to answer the door-bell.
"Yes - no! If it should be Lady Nest, or Sir Roderick, or Mr.. Harte, or someone like that, I'll see them," she replied, drawing back out of the direct line of vision from the front door.
It was nonee of these persons. Mrs. Haddington, listening on the half-landing, heard the level voice of Godfrey Poulton requesting to be announced. She stepped forward to the head of the stairs, saying in her most social tone: "Mr.. Poulton! What a pleasant surprise! I was just telling my butler to deny me, but of course you are always a welcome guest! But isn't dearest Nest with you?"
Poulton handed his gloves and his scarf to Thrimby, and glanced up the stairs. "Good-evening, Mrs. I-Iaddington. No, I fear my wife is not with me. I should be most grateful if you would spare me a few moments."
"But of course!" she said, still smiling, but with a suggestion of rigidity about her mouth. "I hope you haven't brought bad news of Nest?"
He went up the stairs towards her. He did not answer this question, but said: "May I see you in private? I shall not keep you long, I trust."
She opened the door into the boudoir. "Really, you are quite alarming me, Mr.. Poulton! Come into my room! We shall be quite undisturbed. Do you know, I have been feeling uneasy about Nest all day? So unlike her not to have given me a ring!"
He followed her into the room, and closed the door; Thrimby went back to the basement, where, encountering Miss Mapperley, he disclosed that Something was undoubtedly Up.
"For it is not Mr.. Poulton's habit to drop in at this house," he said, "and from the look of him he hadn't come just to pass the time of day."
"It wouldn't surprise me," said Miss Mapperley, pleasurably thrilled, "if he'd come to tell Madam that he won't have her ladyship visiting here any more, not after what's happened! I saw him at the party, and he looked ever such a masterful man. A bit like Cary Grant, only older, of course, and not as handsome. I said so to Elsie, at the time. I'd give something to know what he's saying to the old hag!"
However, neither she nor Thrimby was destined to know what was said in the boudoir. The interview did not last long, the bell summoning Thrimby to show the visitor out after little more than twenty minutes.
He reached the hall to find Godfrey Poulton descending the stairs in a leisurely way. That impassive countenance betrayed no emotion whatsoever. Poulton thanked him briefly for helping him on with his coat, received his gloves and hat from him, and went out to where his car awaited him. Thee chauffeur sprang out to open the door for him; he got in, and as Thrimby closed the front door, the car drove away.
Miss . Mapperley, eagerly awaiting Thrimby's report, was disappointed, but reflected that she would probably be able to gather from Mrs. Haddington's manner, when she went up to help her change for dinner, whether or not the visit had afforded her gratification. "You can always tell when anything's happened to annoy her," she observed. "I wouldn't mind betting I can't do right tonight!"
Mrs. Haddington's bedroom-bell was late in ringing. No summons had reached Miss Mapperley by the time Thrimby went up to the dining-room to lay the table. He was engaged in folding a napkin into the shape of a water-lily when a soft footfall in the hall took him to the door. Beulah Birtley was just about to let herself out of the house.
".I thought you had gone home, miss!" Thrimby said.
She was startled, and turned quickly, colouring. "Oh! I didn't know you were there! Yes, I had, but I left Mrs. Haddington's cheque behind, and had to come back for it. For heaven's sake, don't tell her!"
Thrimby was aware, of course, that Miss Birtley had been granted a latch-key, for this had been bestowed upon her to save him the trouble of answering the door to her every time her employer sent her forth on an errand, but he chose to assume an air of deep disapproval, and to say: "Madam wished to see you before you left, miss, so it is quite fortunate that you have returned. I fancy you will find her in the boudoir."
"I haven't any desire to find her, thank you!" said Beulah. "I went off duty at six, and I'm going home, and there's not the slightest need for you to tell her I ever came back!"
"If you will wait for a moment, miss," said Thrimby implacably, "I will just ascertain whether Madam has any message for you."
He observed, not without satisfaction, that his words had brought a scowl to Miss Birtley's brow, and went in his stately way up to the boudoir.
Chapter Fourteen
It was shortly after half-past seven o'clock that the Chief Inspector arrived in Charles Street. The door was opened with unusual celerity by Thrimby, who stared at the two detectives as though he could scarcly believe the evidence of his eyes, and ejaculated: "I didn't think you would have been here so soon!"
"So soon?" said Hemingway, his quick, frowning glance taking in certain signs of disorder in the butler's bearing. "I want to see your mistress!"
"Yes, sir. Of course!" Thrimby said, with a gulp. "If you'd come this way!" He waited for the two men to cast their overcoats on to a chair, and led them up to the boudoir. Without a word, he opened the door, and stood aside for the detectives to enter the room, carefully averting his gaze.
Seated in the chair beside the telephone-table, was Mrs. Haddington, her eyes and tongue protruding horribly, and behind her head two strands of picture-wire projecting.
The Chief Inspector stood, as though turned to stone, on the threshold. Behind him, he heard Grant gasp: "A Mhuire Mhathaid!" He swung round quickly to confront the butler. "When did this happen?"
Thrimby shook his head, moistened his lips. "I don't know. It isn't more than ten minutes since I found her. I rang up Scotland Yard. They said you'd be along in a few minutes."
"We must already have left the building," Hemingway muttered. "Any idea who could have done it?"