Murray gave her his shoulder to lean on.
“Lean hard,” he said; “I am a splendid stick.”
By and-by they reached the house and Nance went away to her own room. She lay down on her bed and made a great effort to shut away all thought. This was by no means easy. There was much to think about—much to puzzle and perplex her. Her husband’s mysterious absence; the near vicinity of the poor insane lady; the strange words which the lady had used: “I am here as a blind. Ask Adrian Rowton what goes on in the cellars at night.” What did it all mean? What could it mean? Nancy’s heart beat with great throbs—she felt excited and terribly overwrought. Her adventures, however, were by no means at an end. She was just falling off into a restful doze, when the door of her bedroom was softly opened, and her maid, Hester, advanced across the room on tiptoe.
Nancy’s antipathy to this girl was decidedly on the increase, and she now raised her head and spoke almost irritably.
“What is it, Hester?” she said.
The girl approached the bedside with alacrity.
“I just came in to find out whether you were asleep or not, madam,” she said. “I am glad you are awake, for there is a man downstairs. I suppose he is a gentleman, but I cannot say. Anyhow he has called to see you. He said I was to tell you that Mr. Crossley was below.”
“Crossley,” said Nance with a start. She sat up in bed. A queer look came into her eyes.
“When did he call?” she asked the girl.
“Half an hour ago, ma’am, I believe. Vickers has shown him in the library. He said he would wait your convenience.”