“There’s something wrong somewhere,” I said to myself, for quite plainly I could smell burning—the oily smell as of a lamp, a thing I knew well enough, having trimmed hundreds.
At first I thought I must be mistaken; but no—there it was, strong; and jumping out of bed, I got a light; and to show that I was not wrong, there was my cat Tom looking excited and strange, and trotting about the pantry in a way not usual unless he had heard a rat.
I dressed as quickly as I could, and went out into the passage. All dark and silent, and the smell very faint. I went up-stairs and looked all about; but everything was as I left it; and at last I went down again to the pantry, thinking and wondering, with Tom at my heels, to find that the smell had passed away. So I sat and thought for a bit, and then went to bed again; but I didn’t sleep a wink, and somehow all this seemed to me to be very strange.
Story 2—Chapter VI.
A Sudden Change.
If any one says I played spy, I am ready to speak up pretty strongly in my self-defence, for my aim always was to do my duty by Sir John my master; but I could not help seeing two or three things during the next fortnight, and they all had to do with a kind of telegraphing going on from our house to the one over the way, where Miss Adela generally appeared to be on the watch; and her looks always seemed to me to say: “No; you mustn’t think of such a thing,” and to be inviting him all the time. Then, all at once I thought I was wrong, for I went up as usual at half-past seven to take Mr Barclay’s boots and his clothes which had been brought down the night before, after he had dressed for dinner. I tapped and went in, just as I’d always done ever since he was a boy, and went across to the window and drew the curtains. “Nice morning, Master Barclay,” I said. “Half-past—” There I stopped, and stared at the bed, which all lay smooth and neat, as the housemaid had turned it down, for no one had slept in it that night. I was struck all of a heap, and didn’t know what to think. To me it was just like a silver spoon or fork being missing, and setting one’s head to work to think whether it was anywhere about the house.
He hadn’t stopped to take his wine with Sir John after dinner; but that was nothing fresh, for they’d been very cool lately. Then I hadn’t seen him in the drawing-room; but that was nothing fresh neither, for he had avoided Miss Virginia for some little time.
“It is very strange,” I thought, for I had not seen him go out; and then, all at once I gave quite a start, for I felt that he must have done what Sir John had told him to do—gone.