"But—"
"Please don't pay any attention to him," he pleaded, stepping in front of her. "Sit down and tell me about the dummies."
She looked at the door through which Mr. Van Pycke had passed. "Where has your father gone, Mr. Van Pycke?"
"Can you keep a secret?"
Her eyes were expressive.
"You'll have to sit down—over here," he went on. "I don't want the detective to hear me."
They sat down side by side in a Louis Seize divan. He told her of the predicament in which his father had found himself on arrival, and of the expedient footman who came to the rescue. Miss Downing stifled her laughter three times by successful applications of a handkerchief, but the fourth time she failed. If I were not writing of a young lady in a drawing-room, I'd tell the truth and say that she shrieked.
"It is droll, isn't it?" he asked, after watching her convulsed face for a moment.
"Perfectly killing!" she gasped.
He waited until she had dabbed her eyes with the handkerchief a few times and was able to meet his gaze with a certain degree of steadiness. Then he remarked: "It's strange that I've never met you before. Are you an old friend of Mrs. Scoville's?"