“Yes, you’re like Denis,” he said. “Well, I won’t try to persuade you against your own judgment. But I warn you, I shall keep an eye upon you, and if I see that you are getting fagged, I shall write to Colin and take the law into my own hands. Give me his address, please”—he wrote it down—“and promise that you will tell me if I can help you in any difficulty. I know the McNabs pretty well.”
I promised that readily enough.
“But I don’t think there will be real difficulties,” I said. “I am beginning to feel that I can hold down my job, and I like the children. And it will all seem so different, now that I know I have a friend close by. I shan’t be lonesome any more.”
“I’m glad you feel like that about it,” he said. “And now, I suppose, I had better find my hostess: every one seems to have gone over to the tennis-courts.” He made me go with him, and we looked for Mrs. McNab, who was sitting alone, knitting, under a big jacaranda.
“You have had a long talk,” she said, her voice rather cold.
“We have,” Dr. Firth said cheerfully. “I have found an old friend, Mrs. McNab: I knew this young lady in her cradle. Her father was my greatest friend. It has been a very great pleasure to discover one of his children.”
“That is very nice,” said Mrs. McNab absently. “Won’t you sit down? Dr. Firth, have you heard anything of the robbery last night? Or is it only a rumour?”
“No rumour, worse luck. Some mean scoundrel broke into the Parkers’ cottage—you know, those two old maiden sisters who live on the outskirts of Wootong: they used to keep a little fancy shop, but they retired last year. Last night they went to choir-practice, leaving their place locked up, as usual. Some one managed to open the kitchen window and climb in, and when they came home they found their writing-table ransacked.”
Mrs. McNab leaned forward, looking anxious.
“Did they—was there much taken?”