“You must be mistaken, Jones,” he said sharply.
“I think not, sir. They went away together in the automobile. He has not returned.”
A long look of wonder and perplexity passed between young Brood and his stepmother.
She laughed suddenly and unnaturally. Without a word she started up the stairs. He followed more slowly, his puzzled eyes fixed on the graceful figure ahead. At the upper landing she stopped. Her hand grasped the railing with rigid intensity.
Ranjab emerged from the shadows at the end of the hall. He bowed very deeply.
“The master's books and papers 'ave been removed, madam. The study is in order.”
CHAPTER VII
The two old men, long since relegated to a somewhat self-imposed oblivion, on a certain night discussed, as usual, the affairs of the household in the privacy of their room on the third floor. Not, however, without first convincing themselves that the shadowy Ranjab was nowhere within range of their croaking undertones. From the proscribed regions downstairs came the faint sounds of a piano and the intermittent chatter of many voices. Someone was playing “La Paloma.”