“Mrs. Porter didn’t mention, but I hope it is Mrs. Hall who is to go, she’s always complaining about the help.”
Jones nodded sympathetically. “Cook told me she was forever finding fault with the food; says cook discriminates between her and Miss Deane—now, there’s a lady for you, and a good-looker!” in a burst of enthusiasm. “Catch her poking her nose in the garage the way Mrs. Hall does. I came mighty near telling Mrs. Hall what I thought about her when I caught her fooling ’round yesterday; said she wanted to see Mr. Brainard’s car, and I told her the police had taken it away to return to the company from which Mr. Brainard rented it.”
“Hey! you ain’t going in the right direction,” objected Murray, as the chauffeur turned the car into the highway instead of taking the drive which circled the house.
“Sorry”—putting on the brake—“I clean forgot.” Murray swung himself to the ground as the chauffeur added: “Who’s that waving to us?” catching sight of a man running toward them.
“I don’t know,” replied Murray, and delayed his return to the house as the man came nearer. “Why, it’s the caller who waited to see Mr. Hugh this afternoon, name of Anthony.”
“What’s he so excited about?” asked Jones, but before Murray could hazard a guess the Secret Service agent had reached the car.
“Which one of you can show me the way to Elm Ridge?” he demanded, displaying a roll of money.
“I can’t.” Jones suddenly recollected his errand. “Mrs. Porter has ordered me to drive to Washington.” He eyed with regret the bank note which Anthony peeled from the roll. “Go ahead, Murray,” he urged, “take the gentleman where he wants to go. You ain’t needed at the house until six o’clock.”
Murray wavered. The tip was a big one which Anthony held tantalizingly in view, and Mrs. Porter had told him that tea was not to be served that afternoon; as Jones said, he could be absent for an hour. Anthony read his expression and thrust the money into his palm.
“Take me to Elm Ridge and back by a short cut and I’ll double the amount,” he said.