I
After a magnificent night's sleep, so magnificent indeed that he felt as if he had never until that moment really grasped the full significance of the word "sleep," Mr. Prohack rang the bell for his morning tea. Of late he had given orders that he must not under any circumstances be called, for it had been vouchsafed to him that in spite of a multitude of trained servants there were still things that he could do for himself better than anybody else could do for him, and among them was the act of waking up Mr. Prohack. He knew that he was in a very good humour, capable of miracles, and he therefore determined that he would seize the opportunity to find the human side of Mr. Brool and make a friend of him. But the tea-tray was brought in by Mrs. Prohack, who was completely and severely dressed. She put down the tray and kissed her husband not as usual, but rather in the manner of a Roman matron, and Mr. Prohack divined that something had happened.
"I hope Brool hasn't dropped down dead," said he, realising the foolishness of his facetiousness as he spoke.
Eve seemed to be pained.
"Have you slept better?" she asked, solicitous.
"I have slept so well that there's probably something wrong with me," said he. "Heavy sleep is a symptom of several dangerous diseases."
"I'm glad you've had a good night," she began, again ignoring his maladroit flippancy, "because I want to talk to you."
"Darling," he responded. "Pour out my tea for me, will you? Then I shall be equal to any strain. I trust that you also passed a fair night, madam. You look tremendously fit."
Visions of Lady Massulam flitted through his mind, but he decided that Eve, seriously pouring out tea for him under the lamp in the morning twilight of the pale bedroom, could not be matched by either Lady Massulam or anybody else. No, he could not conceive a Lady Massulam pouring out early tea; the Lady Massulams could only pour out afternoon tea—a job easier to do with grace and satisfaction.
"I have not slept a wink all night," said Eve primly. "But I was determined that nothing should induce me to disturb you."
"Yes?" Mr. Prohack encouraged her, sipping the first glorious sip.
"Well, will you believe me that Sissie slipped out last night after dinner without saying a word to me or any one, and that she didn't come back and hasn't come back? I sat up for her till three o'clock—I telephoned to Charlie, but no! he'd seen nothing of her."
"Did you telephone to Ozzie?"
"Telephone to Ozzie, my poor boy! Of course I didn't. I wouldn't have Ozzie know for anything. Besides, he isn't on the telephone at his flat."
"That's a good reason for not telephoning, anyway," said Mr. Prohack.
"But did you ever hear of such a thing? The truth is, you've spoilt that child."
"I may have spoilt the child," Mr. Prohack admitted. "But I have heard of such a thing. I seem to remember that in the dear dead days of dancing studios, something similar occurred to your daughter."
"Yes, but we did know where she was."
"You didn't. I did," Mr. Prohack corrected her.
"Do you want me to cry?" Eve demanded suddenly.
"Yes," said Mr. Prohack. "I love to see you cry."
Eve pursed her lips and wrinkled her brows and gazed at the window, performing great feats of self-control under extreme provocation to lose her temper.
"What do you propose to do?" she asked with formality.
"Wait till the girl comes back," said Mr. Prohack.
"Arthur! I really cannot understand how you can take a thing like this so casually! No, I really can't!"
"Neither can I!" Mr. Prohack admitted, quite truthfully.
He saw that he ought to have been gravely upset by Sissie's prank and he was merely amused. "Effect of too much sleep, no doubt," he added.
Eve walked about the room.
"I pretended to Machin this morning that Sissie had told me that she was sleeping out, and that I had forgotten to tell Machin. It's a good thing we haven't engaged lady's maids yet. I can trust Machin. I know she didn't believe me this morning, but I can trust her. You see, after Sissie's strange behaviour these last few days.... One doesn't know what to think. And there's something else. Every morning for the last three or four weeks Sissie's gone out somewhere, for an hour or two, quite regularly. And where she went I've never been able to find out. Of course with a girl like her it doesn't do to ask too direct questions.... Ah! I should like to have seen my mother in my place. I know what she'd have done!"
"What would your mother have done? She always seemed to me to be a fairly harmless creature."
"Yes, to you!... Do you think we ought to inform the police!"
"No!"
"I'm so glad. The necklace and Sissie coming on top of each other! No, it would be too much!"
"It never rains but it pours, does it?" observed Mr. Prohack.
"But what are we to do?"
"Just what your mother would have done. Your mother would have argued like this: Either Sissie is staying away against her will or she is staying away of her own accord. If the former, it means an accident, and we are bound to hear shortly from one of the hospitals. If the latter, we can only sit tight. Your mother had a vigorous mind and that is how she would have looked at things."
"I never know how to take you, Arthur," said Mrs. Prohack, and went on: "And what makes it all the more incomprehensible is that yesterday afternoon Sissie went with me to Jay's to see about the wedding-dress."
"But why should that make it all the more incomprehensible?"
"Don't you think it does, somehow? I do."
"Did she giggle at Jay's?"
"Oh, no! Except once. Yes, I think she giggled once. That was when the fitter said she hoped we should give them plenty of time, because most customers rushed them so. I remember thinking how queer it was that Sissie should laugh so much at a perfectly simple remark like that. Oh! Arthur!"
"Now, my child," said Mr. Prohack firmly. "Don't get into your head that Sissie has gone off hers. Yesterday you thought for quite half an hour that I was suffering from incipient lunacy. Let that suffice you for the present. Be philosophical. The source of tranquillity is within. Remember that, and remind me of it too, because I'm apt to forget it.... We can do nothing at the moment. I will now get up, and I warn you that I shall want a large breakfast and you to pour out my coffee and read the interesting bits out of The Daily Picture to me."