“I wish you would let me do some of this running about for you, Mrs. Wilson,” he said gravely. “You are not well, and I can’t think of anything worse for a headache. Has the butler’s illness clogged the household machinery?”
“Worse,” I replied, trying not to breathe in gasps. “I wouldn’t be running around—like this—but there is not a servant in the house! They have gone, the entire lot.”
“That’s odd,” he said slowly. “Gone! Are you sure?”
In reply I pointed to the servants’ wing. “Trunks packed,” I said tragically, “rooms empty, kitchen and pantries, full of dishes. Did you ever hear of anything like it?”
“Never,” he asserted. “It makes me suspect—” What he suspected he did not say; instead he turned on his heel, without a word of explanation, and ran down the stairs. I stood staring after him, wondering if every one in the place had gone crazy. Then I heard Betty Mercer scream and the rest talking loud and laughing, and Mr. Harbison came up the stairs again two at a time.
“How long has that Jap been ailing, Mrs. Wilson?” he asked.
“I—I don’t know,” I replied helplessly. “What is the trouble, anyhow?”
“I think he probably has something contagious,” he said, “and it has scared the servants away. As Mr. Brown said, he looked spotty. I suggested to your husband that it might be as well to get the house emptied—in case we are correct.”
“Oh, yes, by all means,” I said eagerly. I couldn’t get away too soon. “I’ll go and get my—” Then I stopped. Why, the man wouldn’t expect me to leave; I would have to play out the wretched farce to the end!
“I’ll go down and see them off,” I finished lamely, and we went together down the stairs.