There was nothing unusual about it, it was just the sort of message she herself had frequently sent before, when she had arranged a party at her riverside bungalow on the spur of the moment. She always took the whole household down, leaving an old woman as caretaker. Chilvers would not have seen anything wrong with the message, and like a good servant had carried out his orders faithfully enough.
“Me, I remained,” explained Élise, “knowing that madame would wish me to pack for her.”
“It’s a silly hoax,” cried Virginia, flinging down the telegram angrily. “You know perfectly well, Élise, that I am going to Chimneys. I told you so this morning.”
“I thought madame had changed her mind. Sometimes that does happen, does it not, madame?”
Virginia admitted the truth of the accusation with a half smile. She was busy trying to find a reason for this extraordinary practical joke. Élise cut forward a suggestion.
“Mon Dieu!” she cried, clasping her hands. “If it should be the malefactors, the thieves! They send the bogus telegram and get the domestiques all out of the house, and then they rob it.”
“I suppose that might be it,” said Virginia doubtfully.
“Yes, yes, madame, that is it without a doubt. Every day you read in the papers of such things. Madame will ring up the police at once—at once—before they arrive and cut our throats.”
“Don’t get so excited, Élise. They won’t come and cut our throats at six o’clock in the afternoon.”
“Madame, I implore you, let me run out and fetch a policeman now, at once.”