"Je n'ai rien fait, Aline," he replied coldly; "je ne sais rien."
She gazed at him in a puzzled fashion. For all her habitual crafty appearance, he felt sure she had no knowledge of this dreadful business. In her way she had a certain loyalty to her mistress which might readily dispose her to regard him as an enemy.
"Moi non plus, monsieur," she said with hesitation. "Mais vous savez, hier soir Madame a été tellement fachée contre Monsieur que je croyais…"
"Ça ne fait rien," he interrupted, striding past her impatiently.
With the muddled feeling of sleep still upon him he unlocked his own door and went through to the bathroom, where he hastily washed his face in cold water. Then as he dried it with a bath-towel he took a quick survey of the room. All was exactly as he had left it the night before: the full-length casement window stood half open, as it usually did; the bottle of Evian was on the shelf where he had placed it. That at any rate was still safe, he reflected. Thérèse had not been able to get at it, thanks to his precautions.
As he quitted the room, relocking the door, Chalmers approached him and spoke in a whisper.
"Do you think it's all right, sir?" he inquired. "She's gone to ask the doctor if he knows anything about her ladyship."
Following the direction of the old man's eyes, Roger saw the black-clad figure of the maid at the first door along the passage. Her voice, high-pitched with excitement, reached his ears, mingled with the doctor's heavy tones.
"Let her alone; it can't do any harm. You are still sure he didn't communicate with her ladyship at all?"
"Positive, sir. I'm sure he's never stirred from his room."