"Yes; ask the lad. Be quick," cried Lady Dene, with deft fingers beginning to arrange the roses in the vases. "Oh! please help me," she cried, turning to Gladys Norman, who had stood watching her as if fascinated.
"But——" she began, when Lady Dene interrupted her.
"Quick!" cried Lady Dene excitedly, "or he'll be here before we've finished."
Then, convinced that it was the work of Kismet, or the devil, Gladys
Norman threw herself into the task of arranging the flowers.
When Thompson arrived some ten minutes later, he stood at the door of Malcolm Sage's room "listening with his mouth," as Gladys Norman had expressed it. When he had regained the power of speech, he uttered two words.
"Jumping Je-hosh-o-phat!"; but into them he precipitated all the emotion of his being.
"Go away, Tommy, we're busy," cried Gladys Norman over her shoulder. "Do you hear; go away," she repeated, stamping her foot angrily as he made no movement to obey, and Thompson slid away and closed the door, convinced that in the course of the next half-hour there would be the very deuce to pay.
He knew the Chief better than Gladys, he told himself, and if there were one thing calculated to bring out all the sternness in his nature it was flippancy, and what could be more flippant than decorating the room of a great detective with huge bowls and vases of red and white roses.
Regardless of Thompson's forebodings, Lady Dene smiled to herself as she put the finishing touches to the last vase, whilst Gladys Norman gathered up the litter of leaves and stalks that lay on the floor, throwing them into the fireplace. She then removed the last spots of water from Malcolm Sage's table.
Lady Dene took from her bag a small leather-case, which she opened and placed in the centre of the table opposite Malcolm Sage's chair. It was a platinum ring of antique workmanship, with a carbuchon of lapis lazuli.