Bobbie was at dinner that night, and, when they were alone, asked her a question that he had asked himself many times.
“Why do you stick this kind of existence, Diana? You’ve heaps of money and could be having a really good time instead of rushing round after Gordon.”
She looked up under her curling lashes.
“Does Gordon want me here? Has he ever wanted me? No, sir! When I came I left my baggage in the hall: I intended taking his advice about hotels and things. I never had the slightest intention of stopping—till I saw him and heard him, and read the panic he was in at the idea of my remaining in the house, and heard him become paternal and my-dear-little-girly. So I stayed. The day Gordon wants me to stay—I go!”
The atmosphere of the house was electric: Bobbie felt it, Diana was conscious of an uneasiness that was not to be accounted for by the errors of banking officials. Even in the servants’ hall hysteria made a mild manifestation. Eleanor had a premonition which she called by another name.
“I’m sure something’s going to happen.” When she was nervous her voice grew high-pitched.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Trenter’s voice lacked confidence.
“I wish you wasn’t—weren’t going away,” she sobbed. “I’ve got the creeps. That window man will do something. The moment I saw him I said ‘that man’s a villain,’ didn’t I, cook?”
“You did. You said ‘I’m sure there’s something wrong about that man,’” agreed cook.
As for Gordon Selsbury, he went to bed at ten. At one o’clock he was pacing his room. At three he went down to The Study and started the percolator working. Whilst the coffee was in process of making, he opened the safe and took out the fifty thousand dollars, counted them and put them back. The safe looked very fragile, he thought. Once this wretched trip was over he would attend to the matter. The house was not difficult to burgle. The big, stained-glass window—an enterprising craftsman with a penknife could get in....