"What!" cried Mrs. Rattray, raising her voice till it was almost a scream.
"Yes, every one of them, and done most systematically—nothing escaped, not even my poor feather fan, nor a hat, or a blouse. The ayah kept crying, 'Look, look, look,' till I was sick of looking. Sleeves were hacked out of dresses, great pieces slashed out of the bodices, skirts cut right across, in all directions; even the artificial flowers were torn to pieces, and the fingers snipped off my evening gloves." She paused, and there was a dead silence, for Mrs. Rattray could find no words adequate to the occasion. She simply stared, with her topee pushed back, from her forehead, and her lips wide apart.
"And—the grey crêpe?" she stammered out at last.
"A rag now. The lemon satin only fit for patchwork. There is not even enough left to make a sofa cushion. It was all done in about half-an-hour—and with a huge pair of dirzee's scissors."
"But who did it?" cried her listener, breathlessly. "Have you no suspicions?"
"No, that is the strange part of it; not a soul was seen or heard about the premises. All the doors in the verandah were wide open, the chokedar was on duty, and he saw no one."
"Then what does the ayah say?" inquired Mrs. Rattray judicially.
"Oh, she vows it was an evil spirit, and if she had not been idling in her godown, but had come in directly the visitors had left, this frightful affair would not have happened." Here Mrs. Dawson's voice became husky; however, she soon recovered her self-possession, and continued, "Nothing was taken—no, not even an inch of ribbon—everything is there. So it was no thief. My husband will have it that it was Captain Moore's monkey."
Mrs. Rattray drew a long breath. At last she inquired, with studied deliberation:
"And what is your own opinion?"