“John does not think that it can have been one of our fellows,” he said, striding about the room with all the energetic restlessness of a young gentleman itching I to be lip and doing. “He says, of course, there is no knowing what such men will be at, but he inclines to the belief Louis must have been killed by those who employ him.”
“Only for failing to procure what was wanted?” she faltered.
“Oh, no! John has a notion they may have suspected him of not dealing quite honestly with them. You see, he is persuaded that Louis was never a principal, because nothing seems to be known about him, and of course our people are generally pretty watchful and know more than you would suppose. The thing is that there is very likely someone, and I dare say more than just one man, who is behind it all. I should not be at all surprised if it were someone no one suspects in the least. What capital fun it will be if he comes to have a touch at us himself!”
“Yes, indeed! And to make it even better, I dare say, since he appears to be such a desperate character, he will stop at nothing to obtain his ends.”
“Exactly so! Particularly if he should suppose that we have that paper safely in our possession!”
She could not repress a gasp of dismay, but common sense came to her rescue and she suggested diffidently that if they had had the paper they must surely have restored it to its rightful owners.
Nicky, after considering this with some dissatisfaction, was obliged to own that there was something in what she said. He cheered up after a moment or two and said, “But only conceive what a famous tangle it is, with the only man who knew where the paper was hid dead, and you living in this house, so that whatever is done to find the thing must be done by stealth! The more I think of it the more I believe they are bungling the affair sadly! The thing to have done would have been to have got unto Highnoons by a ruse. By Jupiter, yes! Someone should have been sent to you as a servant, and only think how easily a seeming servant could ransack the place!”
Her mind darted to the two young wenches hired by Mrs. Barrow, to the carpenter who had been sent for to mend defective hinges, and broken chair legs, and even to the boy who had been engaged to assist the gardener in his labors. She started half out of her chair, exclaiming, “Good God! You do not think that that man who was working here all the morning—or the maids—or—”
“No, I’m afraid not,” Nicky said wistfully. “You mean Redditch, do you? I must say it is a first-rate notion, but I have known Redditch all my life. And as for the maids, ain’t one of them Mrs. Barrow’s niece and the other a girl from the village?”
“Of course!” she said, sinking back again. “I do not know how I came to be so stupid! It is your fault, you horrid boy, for putting such dreadful ideas into my head! And now I come to think of it, I have not the least apprehension that any sinister stranger will arrive at Highnoons, for it is not at all reasonable to suppose that the man who employed De Castres can be aware, that your cousin was employed as a go-between.”
“Why not?” demanded Nicky, staring.
“Because if this dreadful person knew who was the man from whom De Castres obtained information he must surely have approached him himself! Why should the French Government be paying two persons where one would suffice? I am sure they would never do so!”
Nicky thought this over. “Well, yes,” he admitted in some discontent. “I dare say that may be so. And that is why Francis is forced to act in the matter himself, which I’ll wager he never wanted to do! I must say, it will be a dead bore if Francis is the only man we have to reckon with!”
He continued walking about the room, advancing and discarding theories, until relief came to Mrs. Cheviot in the solid shape of Mr. John Carlyon who, after shaking hands with his hostess, prosaically recommended Nicky to take himself off for a brisk walk.
“Walk! I do not want to go for a walk!” said Nicky, quite affronted.
“Then sit down, and do not be fidgeting Mrs. Cheviot in this way. What has become of your guest, ma’am?”
“He is laid down upon his bed.”
He smiled, “Well, my brother may say what he likes, but I shall not readily believe that we have anything to fear from Francis Cheviot! I trust you have not allowed yourself to be alarmed by what I make no doubt Nicky has told you?”
She regarded him with patent hostility. “Dear me, how excessively like your brother Carlyon you are, to be sure!” she remarked.
“Like Ned? No, that I am sure I am not!” he replied, laughing.
“You are mistaken. The resemblance is most pronounced. I might have fancied him to have been addressing me. What a nonsensical thing it would be in me to allow myself to become alarmed by a trifle such as murder!”
“My dear Mrs. Cheviot, nothing of the sort is likely to threaten you, believe me! But I cannot but feel that it is not comfortable for you to be left with Cheviot in your house at night, when he is most likely to make the attempt to possess himself of that memorandum.”
“Hey!” said Nicky, ruffling up. “I shall be here!”
“Yes,” said John unkindly. “Falling over suits of armor, I dare say. Tell me, ma’am, shall I come over to you? I may be perfectly comfortable on the sofa in this room, you know. I would set old Barrow to mount guard if it were not an object with us to keep the servants in ignorance of our suspicions.”
She thanked him, but upon reflection declined his offer, saying that she was content to trust in Nicky and in Bouncer, who had taken such a dislike to Francis that he barked whenever he encountered him and would certainly rouse the household if Francis ventured out of his chamber during the night. Bouncer opened a pair of sleepy eyes and gently thumped his tail on the carpet.
“Yes,” said Nicky gratefully, “and if I tie him to the foot of the stairs after Francis has gone to bed there can be no fear of his giving him poisoned meat, because he will never be able to come near enough to him to do so. He will have roused the whole house before Francis has had time to reach the head of the stairs.”
“Well, ma’am, I own I think you are wise not to refine too much upon suspicions which may yet prove to be without foundation,” John said. “Indeed, when I reflect soberly I find myself loath to believe that we are not all of us hunting for mares’ nests.”
Such a spiritless remark as this could not have been expected to appeal to Nicky, who was provoked into joining issue with his brother in a very heated manner. But when, a few minutes before dinner was announced, Francis came down from his room, his demeanor gave a good deal of color to John’s prosaic reflections. He wore, besides a complete suit of black embellished with a crepe-edged handkerchief, so woebegone a countenance that it was hard to suspect him of duplicity. His mind seemed to be wholly absorbed by the two evils of his friend’s death and his own incipient cold, and it was difficult to decide which loomed the larger in his brain. Whenever the thought of Louis de Castres came into his head it cast him into a silence broken only by deep sighs. But his conversation turned for the most part on a sore throat which he trusted would not be found to be putrid. He partook sparingly of the pheasant pie, trifled with the ratafia cream, and declined mournfully to taste the roasted cheese. Nicky, whose ambition was to goad him into betraying himself, divulged to him the discovery of the secret stair, but as the revelation was met with a strong shudder and an urgent prayer to Mrs. Cheviot securely to nail up such an undesirable feature of the house, he could not be said to have got much good by this gambit. Nor did a reference to Eustace Cheviot’s papers succeed better. Francis said that he had no doubt of their being in the utmost disorder, but begged no one would ask him to assist in unraveling them. “For I have no head for business, dear boy: positively none at all! Your estimable brother will do very much better without me. I am so thankful it is he and not I who is an executor of poor Eustace’s will!”