She managed to drink her coffee, but the food repelled her. As her nerves steadied and self-command returned to her, she furtively studied the faces of her employer and the butler. There was no mistaking the significance of their suddenly acute espionage. She could not account to herself for the magic rehabilitation of the room, but as the chaos of her mind subsided one fact resolved itself irrefutably; the event of the night had been no dream or vision born of hysteria.
Upon that rug so miraculously cleansed had lain the body of the murdered man. How it had been spirited away, or how, indeed, the intruder had gained entrance, and the violent struggle which the condition of the room had indicated could take place without its noise alarming the house, were mysteries Betty made no attempt to solve.
Every sense was alert to her own danger, and she realized that her very life depended now upon her powers of dissimulation. The watchers had become the watched, and she noted that Welch's pasty face was gray in the strong light of morning and his shifty, ratlike eyes darted furtively over his shoulder when he crossed before the hearth.
Mrs. Atterbury, too, left her food practically untouched, and the hand with which she raised her cup shook visibly, but her indomitable brain was evidently schooled to the utmost concentration, for immediately after the farce of breakfast was concluded she conducted Betty to the library and dictated steadily for more than two hours.
The social letters were devoid of interest to the girl, and under the stress of the moment seemed curiously banal. Those concerning financial matters were for the most part unintelligible, but she strove to fix her mind on them and banish the hideous vision which still obsessed her. No allusion was made to the private letters marked with a cross, nor did Mrs. Atterbury dictate any reply to the cryptic communication concerning five thousand sheep which had arrived on the previous day.
However, when the voluminous correspondence had been seemingly disposed of and Betty's eyes were turning longingly toward the crisp sunshine beyond the window, Mrs. Atterbury rose and going to a tall, narrow bookcase built in a corner of the wall, swung it nonchalantly outward with a light practised touch.
A compact steel safe was revealed, imbedded in the solid brick of the wall, and Betty watched eagerly, striving to note each twirl and stop of the combination as the other woman swiftly manipulated it. With a final click the door swung open, disclosing row after row of numbered pigeonholes like a post-office rack, each containing its quota of long, legal-looking envelopes.
The girl's gaze was riveted, tense and fascinated upon the movements of her employer, and unhidden there crossed her face once more that sly, subtle look of Machiavelian cunning and triumph, maturing yet debasing its artless charm.
Had Mrs. Atterbury turned at that moment she might have read a warning in the silent strained figure, but she was engrossed in her occupation. When at length she selected a packet and closing the safe carefully came back to her desk, the girl was rearranging its contents, her face averted.
"Here are rough drafts of some letters which I want you to copy for me. Be careful that you transcribe them exactly; I think you will find them readily legible. When you have finished, mark the envelopes with a cross and place them with the others, for Welch to mail."