In an astonishingly short space of time, she was dressed and downstairs, presenting her usual sleek and polished appearance. Wickham was alone in the drawing-room, and a suggestion that they should have another game of piquet quickly drove him to the writing of some purely imaginary business letters.
The coast was thus clear, but Riatt was still absent.
Nancy’s methods were nothing if not direct. She rang the bell and when the butler appeared she said:
“Where is Mr. Riatt?”
“In his room, madam.”
“Dressing?”
“No, madam, he is dressed. Resting, I should say.”
Nancy nodded her head once. “One moment,” she said; and going to the writing table she sat down and wrote quickly:
“I should like five minutes’ conversation with you. Strange to say my motive is altruistic—so altruistic that I feel I should sign myself ‘Pro Bono Publico,’ instead of Nancy Almar. There is no one down here in the drawing-room at the moment.”
She put this in an envelope, sealed it with sealing wax (to the disgust of the butler who found it hard enough, as it was, to keep up with all that went on in the house) and told the man to send it at once to Mr. Riatt’s room.