“I’ve sent my servants away for a week-end holiday,” she said. “I want no scandal attaching to my cousin’s name. I will not even have it known that this attempt has been made to swindle him. You understand that you will not try to leave the house?”
“Yes,” he nodded.
“Naturally, it is impossible that I should keep up day and night watching you,” she said, “so I have asked a friend to come in and help me.”
A gleam of hope showed in Gordon’s eyes.
“A detective,” she said impressively, “a Mr. Superbus—a name, I think with which you are well acquainted.”
“That ... that ...?” spluttered Gordon indignantly.
“That,” she said.
A bell shrilled in the kitchen. She looked up at the indicator. The little disc which represented the front door was oscillating violently.
“There are the potatoes,” she pointed to them.
Gordon saluted. He was once in the army and it seemed natural to salute.