Presently the light disappeared for good and he turned to his wife.
“What did Eline say? Ring for her.”
Eline was a parlour-maid, grown of a sudden from the merest cipher in the great sum of parlour-maids, to an isolated and important factor.
“I’m sure it gives me the shivers to talk about it, sir,” she said. “Little did I ever think I should be mixed up in a case like this. I’m sure that I’d die if I was ever called into court to give evidence.”
“You will not be called into court,” said Mr. Stott decisively. “This must go no farther, do you understand that, Eline?”
Eline said she did, but she seemed in no way pleased that she was to be spared the painful publicity.
“I’ve had a toothache for the past fortnight—”
“You should have it out,” said Mr. Stott. An opportunity for advising sufferers to have their teeth extracted is one which no normal man can miss. “It is always best to deal drastically with a decaying tooth. Out with it my girl—well?”
“It comes on about half-past eleven and goes off at two. I could set the clock by it.”
“Yes, yes,” said Mr. Stott testily, his interest in Eline’s misfortune ended, “but what did you see at Mayfield?”