Mr. Anthony Corkran was about to answer the telephone, which was ringing shrilly in the lobby off the hall, when he was forestalled by the polite Baker.
The butler apologised with his usual deprecating air for being late and took the receiver off the hook. He said: "Hullo!" and Mr. Corkran, still standing in the hall, could have sworn a female voice answered. The butler gave a sidelong glance towards him and said primly: "I do not know whether it is convenient just now miss."
The voice spoke again. Baker listened and said: "What name, please?"
Apparently no name was given. Corkran saw a curious expression come into the butler's face and wondered. Baker set the receiver down carefully and went away across the hall to the kitchen premises. His interest aroused, Corkran lingered in the doorway of the library to see who was being fetched. Not entirely to his surprise Collins came into the hall a few moments later and went towards the telephone lobby. Corkran drew back into the library and shut the door.
Collins went into the lobby and picked up the receiver. "Who is it? Collins speaking."
"I think you know who I am," said a woman's voice.
The valet cast a quick look over his shoulder and spoke urgently into the mouthpiece. "It's no use your ringing me up here. It's not safe. I told you before."
"Then I think you'd better meet me," said the voice coolly. "I can make trouble, you know."
The man's lips curled back in a rather mirthless smile.
"You'll get no good by it."
"If you refuse to meet me that won't deter me," said the voice. "Either you come to terms or I wreck the whole thing. I mean that. I can do it, too. "Half a loaf is better than no bread," and I have got just half a loaf. Well?"
Collins' fingers tightened on the receiver as though it had been someone's throat. "All right. But don't ring me up here again. I'll meet you. I don't know when I can get off. I'll let you know."
"Thanks, you can let me know now," said the voice.
"I tell you I can't get off at a moment's notice. You ought to know that. I'll see you on my evening off alone."
"You will see me today," said the voice, stating a fact. "Certainly, alone."
"It's not safe. I can't get away for so long."
"I don't mind coming to you," said the voice obligingly. "If you're wise you'll manage to slip out for half an hour."
The valet gave another quick look behind him. "All right. I'll do that on condition you don't ring up here again."
"If you're reasonable I shan't want to ring you up," promised the voice. "Where do we meet?"
The man thought for a moment. "It's risky, but do you know the pavilion in the wood?"
"No. I'm afraid I don't."
"There's a gate before you get to the lodge, leads to the gamekeeper's cottage. The pavilion is by the lake, just beyond. You can't miss it. I'll be there at six." He hung up the receiver abruptly and stepped out of the lobby.
Fountain came out of the library pulling the door to behind him. A heavy scowl was on his face; his eyes were fixed suspiciously on the valet. "Who rang you up?" he demanded. "Mr. Corkran has just been asking me if I am aware that my servants use the telephone for their own private affairs. Who was it?"
Collins stood still, his eyes lowered. There was an unpleasant look about his mouth, and for a moment he did not answer.
"Some woman, eh?" Fountain said, coming a step nearer. "Isn't that so?"
The eyes were raised for a brief instant; Collins said smoothly: "Yes, sir." He gave a little cough. "Merely the young lady I am keeping company with, sir. I explained that she must not ring me up again."
"Keeping company? That's something new. Now see here, Collins! I'll put up with a lot, but there are some things I won't stand. Got that?"
The valet bowed. "Perfectly, sir. It shall not occur again."
"It had better not," Fountain said grimly. "It seems to me it is about time I got rid of you. All things considered."
The shadow of a smile crossed Collins' thin lips, but he nothing. Corkran came out of the library at that moment, and Fountain turned to meet him. The valet went away soft-footed across the hall.
"You were quite right, my dear chap," Fountain said. "Ringing up his girl! Bloody cheek! Thanks for tipping me the wink."
Seven miles away Miss Shirley Brown came out of the telephone-box at the Boar's Head with a triumphant look in her eyes. She was met by the hall porter, who informed her that a gentleman of the name of Amberley had called to see her, and the look changed to one of guarded secrecy. She told the porter to inform Mr. Amberley that she had gone out, adding as an excuse that she must take her dog for a run and could not wait now.
She allowed her visitor ten minutes' grace and then came downstairs followed by Bill. Mr. Amberley had gone leaving no message. With a sigh of relief not entirely unmixed with disappointment, Shirley went out, walking in the direction of Ivy Cottage where she had Mark's packing to do.
At five o'clock in the afternoon she shut Bill into her bedroom and went out, dressed in a long tweed coat and a felt hat pulled low over her head. She went directly to the Market Square, where the omnibuses that served the surrounding villages started. No. 9 bore the legend LOWBOROUGH on its signboard, and she boarded it. After some minutes its driver, who also performed the functions of conductor, got in and started his engine. Shirley, who had chosen a seat immediately behind him, leaned forward and requested him to set her down at the turning that led to Norton.
It had been cloudy all day, and the omnibus had not gone very far when a fine rain began to fall, rather like a Scotch mist. The light was fading quickly, and the landscape seen on either side of the omnibus looked grey and dreary. Shirley gave a little shiver at the prospect of flat, wet fields and was impelled by some inward suspicion to glance round at the other occupants of the bus. She thought she must be suffering from nerves, a complaint she despised, for she had had an unaccountable feeling that she had been followed from the Boar's Head.
Her fellow-travellers seemed ordinary enough. There were two farmers discussing the weather in broad Sussex accents; a red-faced man who might have been a gamekeeper, who sat all over a seat meant for two perusing Our Dogs; and several women, who had been doing the week's shopping in the town. On the route several others were picked up and hailed by those already in the bus. Behind Shirley an Irishwoman poured into the ear of a credulous and apparently interested acquaintance every detail of some unknown person's operation for appendicitis.
At the first village of any size most of the people left the bus, and the driver got down to deliver a parcel at the inn. Shirley and the red-faced man were left alone. Still with the uncomfortable sensation of being followed she took a surreptitious look at him. He was absorbed in his paper and did not seem to be interested in her. A mile beyond the village the bus stopped to set him down outside a kennels for gun dogs. Shirley settled herself more comfortably and sneered at her own qualms.
The bus stopped several more times to pick up passengers and once to set down another parcel. Unaccustomed to the leisurely progress of country omnibuses Shirley began to get impatient and to look at her watch. There was very little daylight left, and the driver had switched on the electric lights. Raindrops glistened on the windows; an unpleasant draught swept over the floor of the omnibus.
The driver drew in to the side of the road and pulled on his brake. "Here you are, miss. Wet evening."
Shirley took out her purse. "Beastly," she agreed. "What time is the next bus back, please?"
"I shall be coming back in an hour," replied the driver, indicating that there was only one bus. "Will you have a return ticket, miss? A shilling, that'll be."
"No. I might miss it," Shirley said.
"Sixpence then, please, miss."
She handed over the money, and he leaned sideways to pull the lever that opened the door of the bus. She climbed down onto the road and stood for a moment watching the omnibus disappear round the bend.