“You’re cold?” asked Miss Mason quickly.
The figure nodded its head.
“Who sent you to me?” she demanded.
“Personne. But I know Keetie Jenkins ’as been model for you. She tell me you ask ’er when you bring ze baby ze white jacket. Mrs. Jenkins ’as taken Keetie away, so I tink I do instead of Keetie.”
“Huh,” grunted Miss Mason. “Haven’t seen you yet. So the Jenkinses have gone, have they? That accounts for Kitty failing me this morning. They might have taken the trouble to let me know.”
The small figure by the fire raised its head quickly. Miss Mason and Barnabas had a glimpse of a pointed chin and a scarlet mouth.
“Mrs. Jenkins she is too un’appy. You see Georgie ’e is dead.”
“Georgie! Never heard of him. Who was he?” demanded Miss Mason.
“’Er little boy.” The reply came seriously. “’E die of doing too many lessons. Mrs. Jenkins say Keetie not die zat way. She ’as gone to ze country, where ze ’spectors not so ’ticular, she say.”
“A unique death,” remarked Barnabas gravely. “I don’t fancy many little boys die of that complaint. Have you ever posed before?”