"My child was called Balkis," went on Miss Cork, "and she was stolen five years ago. I've been looking for her ever since. She will be seventeen years old by now, and I lost her five years ago--yes, five years ago," she kept on repeating. "I've been looking for her ever since."
"A strange name Balkis?" said Jarman, watching her.
"My husband was in the East. It came from the East, that name. I'm a Billericay woman myself, and--" She giggled, then shook her head and withdrew swiftly.
The two men looked at one another.
"She's quite mad, and harmless," said Eustace.
"Quite mad, and dangerous," replied Frank. "I don't trust her."
Confirmed in this opinion by the strange demeanour of Miss Cork, he watched her closely. She muttered to herself frequently, and kept counting on her fingers. Sometimes she would utter the name of Balkis and laugh. Her laughter was not pleasant. It did not seem to Frank that she retained any pleasant memories of the name--yet if it was that of her child she should have done so. Jarman did not trouble about Miss Cork's eccentricities. The meals were well cooked and well served, and there was no fault to be found with the woman's housekeeping. She was odd in her manner, and appeared to be labouring under suppressed excitement. Twice Frank caught her listening, but not in sufficiently open a way to admit of rebuke. As his position was a delicate one he became alarmed; but trusting in Jarman's influence over the woman, and his claim to her gratitude, he tried to dismiss his fears.
Denham duly arrived, and speedily made himself at home. Thanks to some herbal decoction given to him by Eustace, Lancaster welcomed the visitor in a hoarse voice--a regular nestling's note. Natty did not recognise in Mr. O'Neil, the dark secretary, the fair-haired Frank Lancaster, whom he had seen frequently in Bloomsbury. He was completely deceived, and Frank felt more at his ease, being now certain that his disguise was all that could be desired. And, luckily, Natty did not give him much of his frivolous company, as he was mostly with Jarman or hanging round Rose Cottage.
By this time Frank, introduced by Mrs. Perth, had made the acquaintance of his divinity. She likewise never suspected any disguise, and was quite at her ease with the new secretary. Frank's heart beat hard when she offered him her hand, and he could hardly see her face for a mist before his eyes. Now that he heard her voice, and saw her gracious manner, he fell more in love with her than ever. It was a strange feeling, and one that he had not experienced in his wooing of Fairy Fan. But, from the misery he suffered, there was no doubt that it was genuine passion.
Mildred was very amiable with him, and they were together a great deal. Mrs. Perth had taken a fancy to Frank, whose manners she pronounced perfect, and talked much to him. She even discussed the death of Walter Starth, and the probability of Lancaster being the assassin. But by this time Frank had schooled himself into hearing the case talked of without moving so much as an eyelid. In a couple of weeks he became quite an accepted fact in the life of Rose Cottage, and, indeed, of the village. Even Mrs. Baker had ceased to ask him questions. Several letters addressed to Desmond O'Neil, with the Dublin postmark, had arrived, so Mrs. Baker was quite satisfied that he came from the country whence she procured her butter. From being a nine days' wonder in that quiet Essex hamlet Frank became a comparative nonentity, which was exactly the state of things Jarman wished to bring about. Thus, when Denham arrived on his three days' visit, there was nothing likely to connect the secretary with the bedraggled man who had arrived so late at night. And Miss Cork, in spite of her odd ways and Lancaster's suspicions, kept her own counsel most faithfully.