“What a horrible idea,” said Reggie. “My dear fellow, don’t be so despondent. I’ve been waiting for you to take me to the parlourmaid. I want a chaperon.”
Inspector Oxtoby in plain clothes, Superintendent Bell in clothes still plainer and Mr. Fortune in flannels conducted an examination of that frightened damsel, who was by turns impudent and plaintive, till soothed by Mr. Fortune’s benignity. It then emerged that she was not walking out with Mr. Loveday the chauffeur: nothing of the kind: only Mr. Loveday had been attentive.
“And very natural, too,” Reggie murmured. “But why has he only just begun?”
The parlourmaid was startled. They had had a many fellows round the house since mistress went off. She smiled. It was implied that others beside the chauffeur had remarked her charms.
“And Mr. Loveday never came before? Does he ask after your mistress?”
“Well, of course he always wants to know if she’s been heard of. It’s only civil, sir.” She stopped and stared at Reggie. “I suppose he does talk a deal about the mistress,” she said slowly.
“When he ought to be talking about you,” Reggie murmured.
The parlourmaid looked frightened. “But it’s as if he was always expecting some news of her,” she protested.
“Oh, is it!” said Inspector Oxtoby, and Reggie frowned at him.
“Yes, it is!” she cried. “And I don’t care what you say. And a good mistress she was”—she began to weep again, and was incoherent.