“And how is your wife, Aguilar?”
“She’s nicely, thank ye, ma’am. I pointed out to the foreman that it would be a mistake to make the dining-room door open the other way, as the architect suggested. But he would do it. However, I’ve told you, ma’am. It’ll only have to be altered back. Perhaps I ought to tell you that I took the liberty of taking a fortnight’s holiday, ma’am. It’s the only holiday I ever did take, except the annual day off for the Colchester Rose Show, which is perhaps more a matter of business with a head gardener than a holiday, as ye might say. My wife wanted me in London.”
“She’s not caught yet?”
“No’m. And I don’t think as she will be, not with me about. I never did allow myself to be bossed by police, and I always been too much for ’em. And as I’m on the matter, ma’am, I should like to give you notice as soon as it’s convenient. I wouldn’t leave on any account till that foreman’s off the place; he’s no better than a fool. But as soon afterwards as you like.”
“Certainly, Aguilar. I was quite expecting it. Where are you going to live?”
“Well, ma’am, I’ve got hold of a little poultry run business in the north of London. It’ll be handy for Holloway in case—And Jane asked me to give you this letter, ma’am. I see her this morning.”
Audrey read the note. Very short, it was signed “Jane” and “Nick,” and dated from a house in Fitzroy Street. It caused acute excitement in Audrey.
“I shall come at once,” said she.
Getting rid of Aguilar, she knocked at the door of No. 37.
“Read that,” she ordered Miss Ingate and Madame Piriac, giving them the note jointly.