And Rosie subsided into her sister’s arms, weeping violently.
“I haven’t been to bed at all,” she said at last. “I’ve never slept in a room with a balcony before, and I couldn’t resist going out on to this balcony to see how beautiful the night was. And I began to think what a splendid time we were having, and I watched the stars, and I heard the clock strike in the tower over there, and the gardens looked so beautiful in the starlight, and a long, long time must have passed. And then I saw a man standing under my window. He was a man dressed in blue, with grey hair, and he began to talk to me.”
“And why didn’t you tell him to go away, my dear?”
“He seemed so sad, and he said such interesting things. Pauline, darling, there’s something very, very wrong in this house—some mystery! He told me. No one could help believing what he says, and he has such a beautiful voice. I cried, almost, in listening to him.”
“But who was he?”
“I think he must be some relative,” said Rosie. “I think so. He didn’t say. What he did say was that there was a black box which it was absolutely necessary he must have. Oh, Pauline, I’m sure he isn’t a thief! He’s a man who has suffered a great deal, and he asked me to get the box for him, and his face was so sad—well, I said I would. And he told me exactly where it was.”
“Where did he say it was?”
“He said it was under Mrs. Ilam’s pillow; and it was, true enough.”
“How do you know?” cried Pauline, aghast.
“I crept into your room, and lifted Mrs. Ilam’s head, and took the box. You were fast asleep. He asked me to see if you were asleep, and, if you were, not to wake you. So I came as quietly as a mouse.”