She gave her name to Mrs. Mason as Amelia Hutchinson, produced copies of her references, referred Mrs. Mason to the agency as to their possession of the originals, stated her qualifications, and sat silent afterward.
Mrs. Mason shot a doubtful look at Juan. She could not imagine what he had wanted the girl in for. As for Juan, he was in a quandary. The girl was either a very good actress, or she was just what she seemed to be. At last he passed Mrs. Mason a card on which he had scribbled:
Make an excuse to go out for a moment.
When he was alone with the girl, he said to her:
“Who gave you this assignment?”
The girl looked at him with surprise. “Assignment?” she said. “I don’t understand, Mr. Hollingshead of the agency told me to come here.”
Without a word Juan went out to the telephone which he had noticed in the hall, and called Mrs. Mason. “Call the agency,” he said, “and say that you will take the girl. Ask for Mr. Hollingshead. Just as you are through, say, ‘The terms are as agreed on.’ ”
“Yes, but—”
“He will then say something. Hang up the receiver and tell me what that is.”
Mrs. Mason shook her head in half-assumed and half-real amazement, and then did as she was bidden.
“ ‘That’s all settled, then,’ ” she quoted, as she hung up the receiver.
Juan grinned and took her by the arm.
“Come back,” he ordered, and marched her into the drawing-room where he said: “I just got the all settled sign on you, miss. I’m Juan Murphey.”
The girl’s impassive face flashed into life. She stood up, shook hands respectfully with Juan, and said: “I’ve often heard of you, sir, but never thought to be with you on a case.”
Mrs. Mason sank into a chair, and rolled her eyes at the pair.
“Well!” she exclaimed. “Will somebody kindly explain? Why does the young woman have this assurance, and why do you tell her another name than your own, Don Jaime?”
“You are a discreet as well as charming lady,” said Juan, still smiling. “This is one of the most expert indoor detectives that you could want to see.”
“Oh, Mr. Murphey!”
“Yes, you are, my dear. What is your name? I’ve forgotten.”
“Rose Maguire.”
“But she came from a domestic servant agency,” protested Mrs. Mason.
“That agency is a sort of double-barreled one,” Juan replied. “It is really an excellent servant agency, but it is also a detective agency, known to a few, and often supplying England with servants who are also detectives.
“They have to be good servants, as well as detectives. I am sure that you will have no fault to find with your housemaid, Mrs. Mason.”
“I won’t know how to treat her,” the woman wailed, with her usual half humorous attitude. “How can I order her around when she may be detecting at that very moment?”
“You need not think about that at all, Mrs. Mason,” the pseudo housemaid replied, smiling. “After I leave this room just forget that I am anything but what I am hired for — unless I am needed to do something in the other line, or you want to consult me or to tell me something.
“Am I supposed to know something about the case, Mr. Murphey? I suppose that you have got word to Mr. Hollingshead that you are here?”
“Yes, I had Mrs. Mason give him the word, and received back his.”
“So that was what those terms were?”
“Yes, Mrs. Mason. By that means Hollingshead, who is the man in charge of the detective branch of the agency, knows that you know who your housemaid is and, inferentially, that I am here. We have to be very careful in using the telephone, there are so many ways of tapping a telephone, these days, that practically nothing can be intrusted to it with the assurance of secrecy, which is the reason that I did not speak myself.
“Now, Rose, suppose that Mrs. Mason and I give you a very brief statement of what the matter is. I have no idea, at present, of what you can do. I just sent word to the agency by an operative of mine who arrived this morning that they should try to fill this place.
“I was not really certain that I could confide in Mrs. Mason at first, and trusted to chance to get word to you about the matter. By the way, Mrs. Mason, the gardener whom you hired this evening was that operative.”
“My word!” The Englishwoman stared. “That is ‘such speed,’ isn’t it? You Americans!”
“It is ‘some speed,’ yes. I’ll have to take you in hand and teach you our vocabulary. Now, on this case, you begin with what you know, and I’ll finish it.”
Between the two of them they managed to give a comprehensive if hasty statement of the case to Rose Maguire, who merely nodded at their astonishing statements.
“The thing for me to do is to become as friendly with the servants next door as I can,” she said.
“And now you’d better go,” Juan said. We don’t want the butler to know that you are anything but what you seem. Be here in the morning.
“Tell Hollingshead that I thank him for giving you to us, and that I’ll not communicate direct with him if I can help it. I feel that every move that I make may be watched, and if possible I want to preserve the Spaniard for a time.
“That’s a smart girl,” he told Mrs. Mason, after Rose Maguire, instantly slipping into her character, had thanked Mrs. Mason for the position and had followed the butler out. “I have heard of her before. Some day she will be really worth while.
“Now we have two people to undermine that place next door while we assail it from above. How am I going to be introduced there? It must not be too soon. Whether I am suspected or not, I must always maintain my pose. If I can disarm suspicion, so much the better.”
“I wonder if you can get an introduction to Bravortsky or some of that crew? I tell you! Bravortsky has been in to tea once or twice, and I suspect that he will be here to-morrow, since Nicolas Yurdsky, the Russian pianist, is to come and he knows that.
“For some reason, he and all of them — Alma, too — are cultivating Yurdsky, who has been a friend of mine ever since, as a poor boy, he began playing here in London.
“Alma seemed not to care for him, but now — you know, even knowing all that I do, there are times when I simply cannot believe that it is not my Alma — my Alma who has fallen into evil hands, in some way. Do you think it possible that Mary Smith could be mistaken?”
“No!”
Mrs. Mason shrugged her shoulders and sighed. “When I think that the Alma that I know may be somewhere outside her own safe old home, which she loves so and that she so seldom wants to leave, it makes me frantic. If this is a substitute woman, she is a fiend and the whole thing is a diabolical plot!”
“That is exactly what it is. I am more convinced of it every moment. We must not hurry, though. A single false step will betray us. As for you, dear lady — I wish that you would allow Rose to sleep in your dressing room; I should feel safer.”
“Why… I am safe, here in my own house. What do you mean?”
“I mean, that we have undoubtedly some of the cleverest and most desperate of European and possibly American criminals to deal with, and that they will not stop at anything.
“You and Mrs. Hexter are the only two persons well enough acquainted with the true Alma to become suspicious. She is on the other side of the Atlantic, but you are right here, next door. I do not feel easy.
“Please promise me that you will have Rose with you. She has a pistol, no doubt. For to-night, how about the cook?”
“I wouldn’t ask her a favor outside of her kitchen, for a thousand pounds.”
“How about the butler? Where does he sleep?”
“He and the cook have rooms on the third floor.”
“So that you are alone in this house but for them?”