"It won't be dark yet, my lord," observed Billings, with a glance at the clock.
Saltash's eyes went in the same direction. It was not quite three o'clock. "What of that, good Billings? I please myself," he said. "By the way, you might take coffee up to the music-room. Leave it to brew up there! And when Mrs. Bolton calls tell her I'm out, but I shall be back in a very short time! Ask her to wait in the music-room, and pour her out some coffee! Light the red lamp by the piano, but leave the rest! Is that quite clear, Billings?"
"Quite clear, my lord."
Billings was on his knees before the fire. Saltash leaned forward in his chair.
"Be sure you get her to have some coffee, Billings!" he said. "Tell her I specially recommend it."
"Very good, my lord." Billings spoke with his head nearly touching the logs of wood he was seeking to kindle. "I quite understand, my lord."
Saltash got to his feet. "I'll give you a gold watch if you succeed, Billings," he said.
"You're very good, my lord," said Billings.
Saltash wandered down the hall. He had a cigarette between his lips, but he was not smoking. He reached the marble statue near the grand staircase and pressed a switch that flooded it with light. Then he stood before it, silent and intent. White and wonderful the anguished figure shone, but it was rather a figure of death than life. Its purity was almost dazzling. Its very agony was unearthly.
Saltash frowned abruptly and switched off the light. Then for a space he stood in the gloom, staring at the vague outline.