“Good morning, Mrs. Howard. Yes. I am.” (Geraldine made a little surprised face at herself. How odd he sounded!) “Mrs. Howard, I’m coming round to see you ... now ... I’m taking a taxi.... Please don’t go out. And—and—” the voice stammered, “p-please don’t let the servants go out.”
“Par-don?” This last was so very peculiar, though the whole thing had been peculiar enough, that Geraldine couldn’t believe what she heard. But he was gone. He had rung off. What on earth—and putting down the receiver, she took up a pencil and drew what she always drew when she sat down before a piece of blotting-paper—the behind of a little cat with whiskers and tail complete. Geraldine must have drawn that little cat hundreds of times, all over the world, in hotels, in clubs, at steamer desks, waiting at the Bank. The little cat was her sign, her mark. She had copied it from a little girl at school when she thought it most wonderful. And she never tried anything else. She was ... not very good at drawing. This particular cat was drawn with an extra firm pen and even its whiskers looked surprised.
“Not to let the servants go out!” But she had never heard anything so peculiar in her life. She must have made a mistake. Geraldine couldn’t help a little giggle of amusement. And why should he tell her he was taking a taxi? And why—above all—should he be coming to see her at that hour of the morning?
Then—it came over her—like a flash she remembered Major Hunter’s mania for old furniture. They had been discussing it at the Carlton the last time they lunched together. And he had said something to Jimmie about some—Jacobean or Queen Anne—Geraldine knew nothing about these things—something or other. Could he possibly be bringing it round? But of course. He must be. And that explained the remark about the servants. He wanted them to help getting it into the house. What a bore! Geraldine did hope it would tone in. And really, she must say she thought Major Hunter was taking a good deal for granted to produce a thing that size at that hour of the day without a word of warning. They hardly knew him well enough for that. Why make such a mystery of it too? Geraldine hated mysteries. But she had heard his head was rather troublesome at times ever since the Somme affair. Perhaps this was one of his bad days. In that case, a pity Jimmie was not back. She rang. Mullins answered.
“Oh, Mullins, I’m expecting Major Hunter in a few moments. He’s bringing something rather heavy. He may want you to help with it. And Cook better be ready, too.”
Geraldine’s manner was slightly lofty with her servants. She enjoyed carrying things off with a high hand. All the same Mullins did look surprised. She seemed to hover for a moment before she went out. It annoyed Geraldine greatly. What was there to be surprised at? What could have been simpler? she thought, sitting down to her batch of letters, and the fire, and the clock and her pen began to whisper together.
There was the taxi—making an enormous noise at the door. She thought she heard the driver’s voice, too, arguing. It took her a long moment to clasp her writing case and to get up out of the low chair. The bell rang. She went straight to the dining-room door——
And there was Major Hunter in his riding kit, coming quickly towards her, and behind him, through the open door at the bottom of the steps she saw something big, something grey. It was an ambulance.
“There’s been an accident,” cried Geraldine sharply.
“Mrs. Howard.” Major Hunter ran forward. He put out his icy cold hand and wrung hers. “You’ll be brave, won’t you?” he said, he pleaded.