Caw made a stiff little inclination, saying, "My fault alone, sir," and went out.
"There goes a good and faithful servant," remarked Handyside; "and a good chauffeur, too," he added with a heavy sigh.
"Mr. Craig," said Marjorie, breaking a silence, "do you wish us to regard you as non-existent—I mean to say, do you wish your return to be kept a secret?"
"I'm going to sleep on that question, Miss Handyside," he replied.
"I can keep a secret rather well, and I believe father can, too," she said. "Won't you tell us whom you sus—"
"Marjorie," the doctor interposed, "the lateness of the hour is telling on your discretion."
"I'm afraid it is." She got up, went to her bureau, scribbled something on a half sheet of paper, folded it neatly, and presented it to Alan. "Don't look at it till you are in your room," she said softly. "Good night, and sleep well."
Ten minutes later, in the guest's bedroom, Alan opened the paper and read the words—
"Mr. Bullard?"