Timothy nodded.
“Well?”
“He went round the corner of the house towards uncle’s private stairway and he was gone quite a long time. My first thought was to awaken uncle and tell him, but then I remembered that Sir John had spent a long time in Morocco and possibly he knew that the man was about the house. You see, we have had Moorish visitors before, when ships have come to Poole. Once we had a very important man, a Kaid, and Sir John made queer tea for him in glasses with mint and stuff. So I just didn’t know what to do. Whilst I was wondering whether I ought not at least to wake Lady Maxell, he reappeared, walked across the lawn and went down the path which leads to the back entrance—you’re laughing at me,” she said suddenly.
“What you mistake for a laugh,” said Timothy solemnly, “is merely one large smile of pleasure at being in your confidence.”
She was in two minds as to whether she would be angry or pleased, but his tone changed to a more serious one.
“I don’t like the idea of the gaudy East wandering loose under your bedroom window in the middle of the night,” he said. “Did you tell Lady Maxell this morning?”
The girl shook her head.
“No, she was up very early and has been out all day. I have not seen her—in fact, she was not at breakfast. Now I’ll tell you the really serious thing that happened, and I do hope, Mr. Anderson, that you won’t be flippant.”
“Trust me,” said Timothy.
The girl had no reason to complain of his attitude when she had described the shooting incident. He was aghast.