“But that would be doubting my servants still, you see. It really seems, Mr. Stone, as though you could not help me.”
“Before saying whether I can or I can’t, I should be glad, ma’am, to have a conversation with you alone,” was the unexpected answer.
So we left him with Miss Deveen. Cattledon’s stays appeared to resent it, for they creaked alarmingly in the hall, and her voice was tart.
“Perhaps the man wants to accuse you or me, Mr. Johnny!”
We knew later, after the upshot came, what it was he did want; and I may as well state it at once. Stone had made up his mind to watch that night in the garden; but he wished it kept secret from every one, except Miss Deveen herself, and he charged her strictly not to mention it. “How will it serve you, if, as you say, they do not come in that way?” she had asked. “But the probability is they come out that way,” he answered. “At any rate, they fling the doors open, and I shall be there to drop upon them.”
Janet Carey grew very ill as the day went on. Lettice offered to sit up with her, in case she wanted anything in the night. Janet had just the appearance of somebody worn out.
We went to bed at the usual time, quite unconscious that Mr. Stone had taken up his night watch in the summer-house at the end of the garden. The nights were very bright just then; the moon at about the full. Nothing came of it: neither the room nor the window was disturbed.
“They scented my watch,” remarked the officer in private next morning to Miss Deveen. “However, ma’am, I don’t think it likely you will be troubled again. Seeing you’ve put it into our hands, they’ll not dare to risk further annoyance.”
“I suppose not—if they know it,” dubiously spoke Miss Deveen.
He shook his head. “They know as much as that, ma’am. Depend upon it their little game is over.”