A Harlequin with whom she had danced earlier in the evening detained her as she tried to slip past him. He showed a tendency to keep her beside him, pointing laughingly to the clock. One minute to twelve; she made an excuse that she had left a ring in the cloakroom and escaped him. She reached the top of the stairs as the first chime began and ran towards the archway.
The passage was silent and deserted; at the top of the back stairs the door still stood ajar. She reached it, cast a quick glance through, and with a shuddering sigh of relief pulled it to. The shaft of light disappeared, the latch clicked. The girl went to the tallboy and pulled open the drawer she had tried before. Straining her ears to catch the sound of a footstep approaching up the stairs, her hands went feverishly about their work, pressing, scratching along the back of the drawer. Something moved there; the false back came away, revealing a space behind. The girl thrust her hand in, feeling for some object. There was nothing there.
For a moment she stood quite still, her hand in the drawer. Then slowly she drew it out and replaced the false back. There was a bitter twist to her mouth. She pushed the drawer home.
"Admiring the furniture?" said a drawling voice.
She started uncontrollably and swung round. Leaning against the archway that led to the hall was Mephistopheles, without his mask.
The dry sob that broke from her was one of startled nerves. "You!" she panted. "You followed me up here!"
"Why not?" he said.
She could not answer; she stood staring at him, backed against the tallboy.
"Do you usually inspect the furniture in the houses you visit?" inquired Mr. Amberley in a conversational voice.
She made an effort to pull herself together. "I'm interested in period pieces."
"Are you indeed?" He strolled forward and saw her stiffen. "I'm quite uninstructed in these matters. But I'm most curious to know what you find to interest you inside the tallboy."
She said, trying to speak naturally: "Of course - I should not have opened the drawer. I only wanted to see whether it ran easily I haven't stolen anything, if that's what you think. There - isn't anything to steal."
"You don't have much luck, do you?" he said.
A footstep sounded in the hall; Fountain's boisterous voice said: "Half a moment, you people; I'm going to rout out the picture gallery. Aha, Miss Elliott, so I did spot you! It was the dimple that gave you away. Couldn't disguise that, you know!"
The contadina stood like a statue, but through the mask her eyes were fixed on Amberley's face in a rather desperate entreaty.
Fountain came through the archway into the passage humming a dance tune. He had almost turned right, in the direction of the gallery, when he caught sight of the couple at the other end of the passage. He stopped. "Hullo!" he said, surprised. "What are you two up to?"
Amberley looked down at the girl for a moment, then he turned. "Hullo!" he answered. "We're admiring the tallboy. Do you know the date of it?"
"Lord, what a chap you are for antiques!" said Fountain, going towards them. "No, I haven't the foggiest. But it's a show piece all right. Rotten things, tallboys, I think. If you put things in the top drawers you have to have a pair of steps to get 'em out again. But you can't put me off with furniture, my boy! No, no, it's midnight, and masks off! Now who's this pretty lady?"
He was standing before the contadina, burly and ovial, a hand advanced to take off her mask. Mr. Amberley caught his wrist and held it. "Oh no!" he said. "My privilege. You're very much de trop."
Fountain burst out laughing. "De trop, am I? All right, all right, I won't spoil sport! Tallboys indeed! You tell that to the marines."
Someone called: "Basil! Do come here!" from the direction of the stairs, and Fountain began to walk away, saying over his shoulder: "Mind you claim the penalty for being masked after midnight, Amberley!"
In another moment he was gone. The contadina's muscles relaxed. She said: "Why did you do that? Why didn't you let him unmask me?"
"You ought to be grateful to me for not letting him," said Mr. Amberley.
"I am grateful. But why did you do it? I know very well you don't trust me."
"Not an inch," said Mr. Amberley. "But I'm handling you myself."
"If you think I'm a thief - oh, and a murderess too! - why don't you give me up to the police?" she said bitterly.
"Well," said Mr. Amberley, "having given way to a somewhat foolish impulse and refrained from mentioning your presence on the scene of the murder to the police, I can't very well come out with it now. And who am I to question your interest in antiques?"
She put up her hand and ripped her mask off; her face was flushed, her eyes stormy. "I hate you!" she shot out. "You didn't shield me out of- out of consideration! It was because you want to solve what you choose to think is a mystery by yourself!"
"Quite right," agreed Mr. Amberley. "Though somewhat involved."
She looked as though she would have liked to hit him. "Then let me tell you I'd rather you went downstairs now and let the Fountains know I'm a gate-crasher and a thief than — than have you following me and spying what I do!"
"I haven't the smallest doubt of that," he replied. "After all, what would happen if I gave you away to the Fountains? You would merely be shown the door. That wouldn't help me in the least."
She prepared to leave him, but paused to say: "All right! But if you think you're going to find out anything about me you're wrong."
"Would you like to take a bet on it?" he inquired.
But she had gone. Mr. Amberley gave a laugh under his breath, stooped to pick up the handkerchief she had dropped, and began to stroll away towards the hall.
Chapter Five
Mr. Amberley, with a sloth his cousin found disgusting, spent most of the next morning in a somnolent state in the garden. A burst of hot sunshine induced Felicity, always optimistic, to put up the hammock. Mr. Amberley observed this, and approved. Felicity found him stretched in it an hour after breakfast, tried to turn him out, failed, and went off very scornfully to play hard-court tennis.
But Mr. Amberley was not destined to be left for long in peace. Shortly after twelve o'clock his aunt came out and poked him with her sunshade. He opened his eyes, surveyed her in silent indignation, and closed them again.
"Dear Frank — so sylvan. But you must wake up. The most tiresome thing."
Without opening his eyes Mr. Amberley murmured a sentence he knew by heart. "Bridges haven't sent the fish, and unless I will be an angel and run into Upper Nettlefold for it there won't be any lunch."
"No, nothing like that. At least, I trust not. That man who annoys your uncle."
"Which one?" inquired Mr. Amberley.
"Colonel Watson. In the drawing room. Must I invite him to lunch?"
Mr. Amberley was at last roused. He sat up and swung his long legs out of the hammock. "I forgive you, Aunt Marion," he said. "It was very nice of you to come and warn me. I shall take my book into the woodshed. On no account ask him to lunch."
Lady Matthews smiled. "I do sympathise, my dear. Of course I do. But not a warning. He has been talking to your uncle for half an hour. The gold standard, you know. So incomprehensible and unsuitable. He came on business. Something very legal, but he wouldn't go. If he had only told Humphrey that he wanted to see you! We have only just discovered it. Not that he said so. It was sheer intuition on my part. Do come, my dear. Be very rude, and then he will not want to stay to lunch."
"All right, I will be. Very rude," said Mr. Amberley, and descended from the hammock.
"So sweet of you, Frank, but perhaps better not," said his aunt dubiously.