“Yes, my lord.”
“Why don’t you go?”
“Your lordship forgets the emeralds.”
“Ah, yes, of course.” He laughed. I motioned to the footman to clear out.
“You don’t seem to care for that job, Saunders,” his lordship resumed, quizzing me. “Surely Berry is a charming companion. In your place I should regard it as excellent fun. But I have often told you that you have no sense of humour.”
“Not all men laugh at the same jokes, my lord,” I observed.
As a matter of fact, in earlier and wilder days, his lordship had sometimes thrown a book or a boot at me for smiling too openly in the wrong place.
The conversation might have continued further, for his lordship would often talk with me, but at that moment Susan Berry appeared with the bag containing the case in which were the emeralds. Lady Trent’s own maid was with her, and the two stood talking for an instant at the foot of the stairs, while Lady Trent’s maid locked the bag and handed the key to Berry. Heaven knows how long that simple business would have occupied had not the voice of my lady resounded from the first floor, somewhat excitedly calling for her maid, who vanished with a hurried good-night. His lordship had already departed from the hall.
“May I relieve you of the bag, Miss Berry?” I asked.
“Thank you, Mr. Saunders,” she replied, “but the Marchioness prefers that I myself should carry it.”