The man lingered in the room, arranging the chairs, and fussing about the table, until he began to make Helen nervous. Peremptorily she said:
"You had better go, François; monsieur is waiting for you."
The valet bowed obsequiously, and left the room, shutting the door carefully. Instead of proceeding immediately upstairs, he stopped for a moment behind the closed door and listened intently. But, unable to overhear the two women, who were conversing in an undertone, he hurried upstairs toward his employer's bedroom. Arrived on the landing, he went straight to the room, and, without stopping for the formality of knocking, he turned the handle and went in.
CHAPTER XIII
Instead of finding his master resting from his fatigue, as Mrs. Traynor had said, François discovered the new arrival very much awake. He was sitting in front of Helen's bureau, eagerly perusing a bundle of private letters tied with blue ribbon, which he had taken from a drawer. As the door opened, he jumped up quickly, as if detected committing a dishonorable action; but, when he saw who it was, his face relaxed and he gave a grim nod of recognition.
"Lock the door!" he said in a whisper. "It won't do to have anyone come in here now."
The valet turned the key, and, dropping entirely the obsequious manner of the paid menial, threw himself carelessly into a chair. Taking from his pocket a richly chased silver cigarette box, loot from former houses where he had been employed, he struck a match on the highly polished Circassian walnut chair, and proceeded to enjoy a smoke.
His companion looked at him anxiously.
"Well?" he demanded hoarsely. "Is it all right? What do they say? Does anyone suspect?"