The old woman looked apprehensively towards the door which gave into the house.
“There are many bad characters about,” she murmured. “It makes the Count nervous. Do not say anything about this to him, Mademoiselle, or to the Countess. They would only be angry with me.”
“Angry with you?” repeated Lily, surprised.
“It is possible that I left the big gate undone. The only time that gate is open is when they are bringing in the wood and the charcoal for the fire. Some was brought a day or two ago. I may have left the gate unlocked,” she repeated, in a troubled voice.
The girl hurried out and ran across the yard. The outhouse had evidently been tidied up by Cristina that morning. Somehow it looked different.
Lily glanced round. What was it that made this queer little place look other than usual? Then all at once she knew—the curious-looking trolley, which as a rule stood just opposite the door, was now pushed back alongside the further wall. No doubt it had been used yesterday by Uncle Angelo when moving the plants he had bought two days ago to the garden.
And then, all at once, it struck Lily that it must have been Uncle Angelo who left the gate unlocked. Every time that trolley was moved out from the outhouse the gate must of course be unlocked to let it through.
The water in the high, narrow zinc bath was still very hot, and Lily did not want to go back into the house to get a pailful of cold water. So she walked about, stamping her little feet to keep warm, for it was rather cold in this shadowed, outdoor room where no sun ever penetrated. At last she went close up to the trolley—she could think of no better name for it—and then she noticed that the big bicycle wheels were splashed with yellow mud.
And then, all at once, there rose before her mind that patch of yellow mud into which the Pescobaldis’ motor had sunk. She recalled the Marchese’s explanation that there was a spring under the ground. It was clear that the trolley must have been dragged across there very recently.