Pictures in heavy gilt frames hung on the white walls. Mr. Amberley, something of a connoisseur, glanced up at them as he passed and presently came to a halt under a fine Reynolds. He was still standing thoughtfully surveying the picture when his host came out of the gallery at the end of the passage.
Fountain was in great spirits tonight; his enjoyment of' the ball was unaffected and immense. He had been circulating freely among his guests, an excellent host, anxious to make the party a success and contributing largely to the general gaiety by his own evident geniality and pleasure.
When he saw Amberley he at once came up to him and clapped him on the shoulder. "This won't do, this won't do, Mephistopheles," he said chaffingly. "Not dancing? Don't tell me you haven't got a partner!"
"I have. I was going in search of her when I stopped to look at your pictures. I envy you your collection."
"Do you?" said Fountain. "Not much in my line, I'm afraid. I've got some jolly fine sporting prints though, if you like them. In my study."
"I prefer this," answered Amberley, still looking up at the Reynolds. "Who was she?"
"My dear fellow, I haven't the foggiest idea! Some great-grandmother, I expect. Got the family beetle brows, hasn't she? Not a bad-looking wench. You ought to get on to my housekeeper. She knows much more about all these hoary ancestors than I do."
Amberley turned away from the portrait and remarked that the ball was a great success.
Fountain looked pleased. "I think it's going quite well, don't you? Awfully silly, really, but I find I'm not too old to enjoy this sort of thing. Once I can get a lot of cheery people round me in a jolly party with a good band and dancing and all the rest of it, I forget all my worries. Daresay you'll laugh, but this is the kind of thing I like. Always did."
Have you many worries?" said Amberley lightly. "It doesn't look like it."
A cloud descended on Fountain's brow. "I suppose we all have our private troubles," he answered. "There's a good deal of worry attached to a place like this, you know."
"I suppose so. You don't like the house, I gather?"
"No," Fountain said with odd vehemence. "I hate it. I used to think I liked it. Always rather looked forward to living here eventually. But sometimes I wish to God I was back in my town flat, without all the - worries of an estate to bother me."
"Yes, I can quite understand that. But I expect there are compensations."
A grim little smile twisted Fountain's mouth. "Oh yes. There are substantial compensations," he said. "Fact is, I wasn't cut out to be a country squire. Look here, quite sure you don't want me to introduce you to some charmer? No? Well, I must get back to the ballroom. Hope you find your truant." He went on down the passage and Amberley proceeded in a leisurely way to the picture gallery, where he succeeded in retrieving Felicity.
The unmasking was to take place in the ballroom at midnight, immediately before supper. Quite twenty minutes before twelve people had begun to congregate in the hall and ballroom, deserting the inglenooks upstairs for the fun of the unmasking. The noise of laughter and of chatter, mingled with strains of the latest quickstep, floated upstairs, contrasting queerly with the brooding stillness there.
There was a movement in the long passage; a door was opened softly and a girl came out and stood for a moment looking down into the shadows at the far end of the corridor. There was no one in sight, no sound of voices in the picture gallery where the lights still burned; even the medley of sound coming from below was hushed at this end of the house.
The Italian contadina stole along the passage slowly, looking for something. The painted eyes above her looked down as though watching what she would do. She reached the archway and glanced through it into the hall. It was empty. She seemed to hesitate, and still with that feeling that unknown eyes watched her, glanced nervously over her shoulder. There was no one there. She went on, but paused by a court-cupboard and put out her hand as though to touch it. Then she drew it back; it was not a court-cupboard that she was looking for.
Almost at the end of the corridor a slim shaft of light coming from an open door was cast on the opposite wall and caught the corner of a walnut tallboy. The girl saw and went forward.
The open door disclosed the well of the back stairs. She peeped through, but the place seemed deserted. One more look she sent over her shoulder, then glided towards the tallboy and softly pulled out the bottom drawer of its upper half. The drawer ran easily and made no sound, but the brass handles clinked as she released them and the tiny noise made her start guiltily.
The drawer was empty; the girl put one hand in, feeling with trembling fingers along the back.
Something impelled her to look up; the breath caught in her throat, and her groping hand was checked. A shadow had appeared in the panel of light on the wall, the shadow of a man's head.
The girl's eyes remained riveted on it while seconds passed. No sound had betrayed his approach, but someone was behind her, watching.
She slid the drawer home inch by inch; her throat felt parched, her knees shook.
A smooth voice that yet held a note of menace spoke: "Were you looking for something, miss?"
She turned; under the mask she was deadly pale. The valet stood in the doorway behind her, motionless.
She said with what assurance she could muster: "How you startled me! I have been admiring some of this wonderful old furniture. I wonder if you can tell me if this is a William and Mary piece?"
His eyes travelled slowly to the tallboy and back again to her face. His tight mouth relaxed into a smile that was curiously unpleasant. It seemed to triumph, to gloat; the girl felt her skin prick, but stood still, waiting.
"The tallboy," said Collins softly.
She swallowed. "Yes. Do you know its date?"
He put out his hand and passed it over the polished surface caressingly. His smile grew. "No, miss," he said politely. "I fear I do not. You are very interested in it, are you, miss?"
"I'm interested — yes. I must ask Mr. Fountain about it."
There was a footstep on the stone stairs; a woman's voice called: "Mr. Collins! Is that you up there? Mr. Collins, will you come? They'll be in to supper in a minute; the champagne ought to go on the ice."
He turned his head; the smile had faded. "I'll be down in a minute, Alice." He looked at the girl beside him with narrowed, calculating eyes. "I think you had better go downstairs, miss," he said. "This way, if you please."
He went before her down the passage; she had no choice but to follow him. He led her to the front stairs and stood aside for her to go down them. She hesitated, desperately seeking an excuse to keep him with her.
A big, scarlet-clad figure stood talking to a Mary Queen of Scots upon the half-landing. He looked round and saw the valet. The girl's heart gave a frightened leap, for the scarlet figure was that of her host and the hour of unmasking must be very near at hand. She slipped past him and went down to the hall.
"Oh, there you are, Collins! I want you," Fountain said.
An ugly look came into the valet's face and was swiftly gone again. He said: "Yes, sir," and followed his master downstairs.
The contadina's eyes stole to the big grandfather clock. In less than five minutes midnight would strike. Unconsciously her hands clasped and unclasped in the folds of her dress. Fountain had gone across the hall to the dining room with Collins; they were standing in the doorway, and Fountain seemed to be giving the valet some instructions. The man was watching her, she knew, though he did not appear to be looking in her direction. Two other people had joined Fountain; the valet bowed and went into the dining room.
At once the contadina began to edge her way through the crowd in the hall to the staircase. There was probably a second door into the dining room, which gave access to the back part of the house where the kitchens were situated, but the girl dared not let slip her opportunity..