"I haven't any desire to find her, thank you!" said Beulah. "I went off duty at six, and I'm going home, and there's not the slightest need for you to tell her I ever came back!"
"If you will wait for a moment, miss," said Thrimby implacably, "I will just ascertain whether Madam has any message for you."
He observed, not without satisfaction, that his words had brought a scowl to Miss Birtley's brow, and went in his stately way up to the boudoir.
Chapter Fourteen
It was shortly after half-past seven o'clock that the Chief Inspector arrived in Charles Street. The door was opened with unusual celerity by Thrimby, who stared at the two detectives as though he could scarcly believe the evidence of his eyes, and ejaculated: "I didn't think you would have been here so soon!"
"So soon?" said Hemingway, his quick, frowning glance taking in certain signs of disorder in the butler's bearing. "I want to see your mistress!"
"Yes, sir. Of course!" Thrimby said, with a gulp. "If you'd come this way!" He waited for the two men to cast their overcoats on to a chair, and led them up to the boudoir. Without a word, he opened the door, and stood aside for the detectives to enter the room, carefully averting his gaze.
Seated in the chair beside the telephone-table, was Mrs. Haddington, her eyes and tongue protruding horribly, and behind her head two strands of picture-wire projecting.
The Chief Inspector stood, as though turned to stone, on the threshold. Behind him, he heard Grant gasp: "A Mhuire Mhathaid!" He swung round quickly to confront the butler. "When did this happen?"
Thrimby shook his head, moistened his lips. "I don't know. It isn't more than ten minutes since I found her. I rang up Scotland Yard. They said you'd be along in a few minutes."