CHAPTER XII
Elsie, the cook, was an early riser and worker, but even she had been exhausted by the doings of the long day on which Harry Garlett had been arrested. So she came down later than usual the next morning.
It was still rather dark, so she turned on the electric light, and, after she had lit the fire and put on a kettle of water, she began bustling about the kitchen.
All at once, and for the first time in her life, she gave a suppressed scream, for three pale faces were glued to the kitchen window, and for an awful moment she thought they were the spirits of dead men.
Then the woman’s strong good sense asserted itself. Spirits don’t wear great coats and billy-cock hats. Looking straight into the three staring faces, she hurried to the front door and unlocked it. At once the three men faced about and stood before her, and, in the hazy morning light, she saw the motor which had brought them standing outside in the road.
The youngest of the strange-looking visitors, a “cocky-looking young man,” so Elsie told herself, took off his hat and held out his hand; but Elsie kept her hands down.
“Is it the doctor you’re wanting?” she said, sharply. “And what d’you mean by behaving so unmannerly? You gave me the fright of my life—if it’s any pleasure to you to know it.” And then, to her indignation and surprise, the cocky young man bent a little forward, took up her right hand and pressed into it a pound note.
“We want five minutes’ talk with Miss Jean Bower,” he said in a husky whisper. “Don’t think we’re going to frighten the young lady, or insult her in any way—we only want a few moments, which will be all to her advantage. Can you conveniently manage that for us?”
Elsie crunched up the pound note and flung it straight at his face. To her regret it did not touch either of his eyes, it only hit his nose.
“How dare you offer me your dirty money?” she exclaimed. “You make yourself scarce, young man, or I’ll go and ring up the police!”