"I didn't ring," she explained, standing on the little blue rug by the umbrella stand, and jabbing her dripping umbrella into the stand. "The hall door was open and I came right in." She hesitated, and then rushed on, directing most of her speech to Elinor. "Geraldine Leighton is dying, they say, and I thought we might each send a little note to Doris—she's awfully alone, now that Mrs. Leighton is ill, you know. It mightn't help her much, but it would show her that we——",
Mrs. Dallas had made this threat so many times that nobody paid any attention to it, and, not expecting an answer, she began to fan herself slowly. Through her half-closed eyes she looked anxiously at the subtle face of Etwald. With the instinct of a woman she guessed that something important had brought the doctor to see her; he was not a man to waste his time on visits of ceremony.,
"She has fled.",
"Dido--the negress, of Mrs. Dallas!"
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"Yes; like a street arab. He was one, once, you know, major, and has not forgotten his early habits. Well, he was driven with the carriage to Deanminster.",
Some little distance from the major's abode stood a long, low rambling house on a slight rise. Surrounded by deep verandas, it was placed in the middle of emerald green lawns, smoothly clipped; and these, lower down, were girdled by a belt of ash and sycamores and poplars, which shut out the house from the high road.,
"What!" David made a step forward and stared at the wall. His face was quite pale, and his hands trembled in spite of his efforts to control himself.
When Etwald took his departure, Major Jen sent David to bed, in spite of the young man's remonstrances, but remained up himself to talk to Arkel. For a long time Jen discussed the matter with the inspector, but the conversation proved extremely unsatisfactory. Arkel was not a clever detective, or even a keen-witted man, and in a case like the present--difficult and involved--he was quite at a loss how to proceed. Finally, Major Jen dismissed him in despair, and while Arkel went to see his men, who were posted round the house--a clear case of shutting the stable-door after the steed was stolen--Jen remained alone to think of what he should do. "I must be my own detective," he thought, pacing the library. "This man is a fool. He will find out nothing, and I won't have even the satisfaction of burying the body of my poor lad. I must do the work myself, with the assistance of David. To find out who stole the devil-stick; that is the first step. To discover who killed Maurice; that is the second step. To learn who carried away his body; that is the third step. Three very difficult things to find out, and I don't see where to begin. I must learn all I can about Maurice's past life, for he may have enemies of whom I know nothing. Once I learn who his enemies are--if he had any--and I may discover the truth. I shall go and sleep, and when I awaken I shall set to work to solve these mysteries."
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"Ju's a clever young monkey, in spite of her grannified airs," she said, warmly. "If we can only get some of the starch out of her by the time she's old enough to take notice, her dream of being a great writer may come half-way true."
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"Do you remember how we planned for this year?" said Patricia, her chin on her hand and her eyes on the leaping flame. "That was at Christmas time, only three short months ago, and we've all broken our plans already. David and Judy are the only ones who have stuck to theirs, and that is mainly because they can't help themselves. Here am I, studying at the Academy, after vowing I'd not waste money on myself at all. Elinor is dropping half her studies there and starting on an entirely new course—Interior Decoration and Stained Glass—under Mr. Bruce Haydon's personal supervision; and as for Mrs. Shelly and Miss Jinny—they are so far out of their plans I don't believe they'll ever get back into them again."
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"I'll never again say that the literary instinct is a burden and a reproach, Ju," said Patricia, with her eyes dancing and her head high. "Your thirst for 'plots' has proved too serviceable for me ever to point the finger of scorn in its direction."
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>She followed Elinor into the larger room where a feeble daylight, filtering in through heavily grated basement windows, struggled with the flaring gas jets, and the odor of cocoa and bread and butter mingled with sachet and the fumes of turpentine and paint.
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