"Faugh!" said Beaumont, on whose pale face the beads of perspiration were standing, "what unpleasant work. Give me some brandy."
The housekeeper silently left the room and shortly returned with a liqueur glass of the liquor, which he tossed off rapidly, and the effect was soon seen in the glow which came over his face.
"You ought to have some yourself," he suggested, handing her back the glass.
"I don't require it," she replied coldly. "I'm used to the atmosphere of this house. You are not."
"It's like a charnel-house," he said, with a look of disgust. "Well, I've done my part of the affair. Now, all you've got to do is to swear Reginald is Fanny Blake's son. I'll leave it to your ingenuity to tell a good story."
"You can be certain of that," she replied coldly. "I've done with all scruples, and since it is to enrich my son, you may be sure I will do my best. And now I suppose in order to avert all suspicion, you'd better see Miss Una."
"Yes, of course. I want to return her these keys," he replied, jingling the bunch. "If any questions are asked, of course you can swear I have not been out of the room. But I don't think you need be afraid, everything will go quite smooth. There is a strong motive."
"And the motive?"
"Una's love for Reginald. Now go and tell her I am here."
When Patience left the room on her errand he dusted his boots with his handkerchief, pulled down his shirt-cuffs and settled his tie and hair in the mirror over the fireplace. By the time Patience returned he had quite recovered his nonchalant manner, and was humming a tune when she entered.