“Mary,” she said, so sweetly that the girl was startled, “such an annoying thing has happened—I have lost the key of my wardrobe. You borrowed one of Sir John’s duplicates the other day—where did you put the ring?”
John Maxell was a methodical and systematic man. He had a duplicate set of all the keys in the house, and these as a rule were kept in a small wall-safe in his own bedroom. He had never invited his wife to use that receptacle, but she had a shrewd idea that the combination which was denied to her had been given to the girl.
Mary hesitated.
“Don’t you think if you asked Uncle——”
“My dear,” smiled the lady, “if I went to him now, he’d never forgive me. If you know where the keys are, be an angel and get them for me.”
The girl rose, and Lady Maxell followed her upstairs. Her own room was next to her husband’s and communicated, but the door was invariably locked on Maxell’s side. Presently the girl came in to her.
“Here they are,” she said. “Please let me put them back quickly. I feel very guilty at having taken them at all without his permission.”
“And for goodness’ sake don’t tell him,” said Lady Maxell, examining the keys.
At last she found the one she wanted, but was a long time in the process. She opened her bureau and the girl took the big key-ring from her hand with such evident relief that Lady Maxell laughed.
It had been easier than she thought and unless she made a blunder, the key she had selected from the bunch while she was fumbling at the bureau, would make just the difference—just the difference.