"He said Cromer, sir, but he did not leave any address." Then, after a momentary hesitation, she added, "Is—is anything wrong?"
I looked at her keenly. She dropped her eyes, and I could see there was something on her mind.
"What makes you ask?" I enquired.
"I—I don't know," she replied, with obvious embarrassment.
"There must be something or you would not have asked," I said encouragingly. "Come—out with it."
She still hesitated, but the housemaid was bolder. "I'll tell the gentleman if you don't, Sarah," she declared. "It's like this, sir," she rattled out volubly: "the master, Mr. Mannering that is, has been so queer in his ways lately that Sarah and me 'as been quite scared. Not that he 'asn't been quite the gentleman. He always was that, wasn't he, Sarah? But he's been that restless and bound up in himself lately—walking up and down in his room and talking to himself. He always was one to shut himself up in that nasty old coach-house with his experiments and things, but he was quiet, and we never took no account of it. But lately he's been different."
"How?" I asked.
"Well, instead of going to bed like a Christian he's up all hours of the night. It ain't only that. He slips out as if he didn't want us to see him, and when we've known he hasn't been at home we've found he's taken the trouble to tumble the bed to make it appear as how he slept in it."
"Pooh!" I remarked. "If that's all, my servants would probably say the same about me. You need not be alarmed about such trifles."
"But it's not all," said Sarah, taking up the story. "The nights he goes out are just the nights the Pirate makes his appearance."