That first day was calm and quiet enough. Had it not been for the strange condition of the house and the necessity for keeping the children locked in I would have smiled at my terror of the night. Luncheon was sent in; so was dinner. The children and I lunched and supped alone. As far as I could see, Mrs. Reed made no attempt at housework; but the cot at the head of the stairs disappeared in the early morning and the dog did not howl again.
I took the boys out for an hour in the early afternoon. Two incidents occurred, both of them significant. I bought myself a screw driver—that was one. The other was our meeting with a slender young woman in black who knew the boys and stopped them. She proved to be one of the dismissed servants—the waitress, she said.
“Why, Freddie!” she cried. “And Harry too! Aren’t you going to speak to Nora?”
After a moment or two she turned to me, and I felt she wanted to say something, but hardly dared.
“How is Mrs. Reed?” she asked. “Not sick, I hope?”
She glanced at my St. Luke’s cloak and bonnet.
“No, she is quite well.”
“And Mr. Reed?”
“Quite well also.”
“Is Mademoiselle still there?”