They passed into the hall and out through the front door. It was almost dark. Through the moist, warm air came the scent of pale night flowers dimly white against the dark ivy.
"I must be off," said Bob, "or the golf club will be shut. Any one want to go along?"
"I don't think Mrs. Merle should be left alone," said Kate. "I'll try to make her eat something."
Bob started toward the garage as the other two re-entered the dark house. None of the hall lamps had been lighted. In the dining room the candles were burning low, their impish flames casting jerky shadows on the disordered table. The empty chairs, pushed back, had the unquiet stillness of arrested movement. Kate shivered.
"Get some candles," she said. "Quick before these go out!"
On the table was the depressing litter of stained coffee cups, together with sundry plates and glasses overlooked by Hester. The countess began gathering the plates and cups together and piling them on the sideboard. Lionel watched her in silence. Now only the cloth remained.
"Take the other end," she commanded.
Lionel obeyed and together they folded it into its original creases.
"I say, Kate," he said presently. "What about servants—did you telephone?"
The countess was leaving the room to "rout out Mrs. Merle," as she expressed it. She stopped short and came back to Lionel. There was a look on her face that startled him.