“Indeed you have, my dear, kind lady. And you’ll be glad to hear that the true story removes all the—the—doubtful appearances.”
“Don’t put my bag there! Put it on the table.”
He obeyed hastily.
“I beg your pardon. As I was saying, the true story, removes....”
She interrupted him impatiently.
“I heard you! Of course I knew your intelligence would be equal to the occasion. I suppose you’ve got the man out of the way?”
She had removed her wrap and bonnet, and was moving about the room fussily, with little touches at this and little dabs at that, indicating unmistakably that at last a mistress of quality and authority had come to Villa Rose. She turned the Buddha about from one position to another, and finally transferred him to the stand by the settee; she pulled a piece of Sweet William out of the vase of old-fashioned garden flowers, standing there, and draped it over the image’s shoulder. She carried an antique copper vase from the mantel to the bookcase, and was obliged to make room for it there by scattering a group of small objects. She managed to crowd them all about the vase, with the exception of a foxhound in green bronze. She finally deposited this animal at the feet of the Buddha.
“I’ll have a smart talk with those two lazy maids to-morrow, and find out why they both left the same day as the coachman. I’m more than ever convinced now, that there’s something queer about that. Of course it would be a dreadful shame to wake Mrs. Lee, yet, if she had a telephone I really would have called her. She should know about this. Oh, I knew all along that that gaudy frock had not been put on for my benefit!” She turned abruptly. “Why don’t you tell me what you’ve done with the man?”
Howard, who had several times attempted to speak, and had also been following her spasmodic dashes about the room as best he could, caught up with her now and, making much of the chance to create a sensation, said, with slow impressiveness.
“The man is under arrest.”