“What’s the matter? There’s nothing to be frightened about!”
“How do you know?” she stammered. “I feel queer because I don’t know. I want to see some one who isn’t just ourselves,” she went on chaotically, “and I’m the more vexed because it has to—to be Perkins.” She covered her eyes unconsciously, like a child. “Jack, Jack, what is the matter with me? I’m acting like a fool.”
He put his arm round her. “I’m awfully sorry, dear, but, really, it’s nothing. I hardly knew I spoke. Of course it is nothing. I’ll search the house if you like.”
“But would you find it?” she whispered. “Would you find it?”
Came a tap at the door, and Perkins entered, her face as blank as ever. Edith controlled herself with an effort and looked straight into the basilisk eyes.
“Perkins, has any one come to the house just now?”
The maid glanced at her, impassive and inscrutable. “No, madam. Was any one expected?”
Edith could but answer with another question. “You—you have heard nothing within the last few minutes?”
“Nothing whatever, madam.” The voice carried no suggestion of surprise, but Perkins’s eyes met those of Derrick for a passing instant.
“Thank you. Please go to my room, and—and bring me a handkerchief. Are all the windows and doors fastened?”