“Certainly, sir.” Jones held wide the door and watched the coroner down the steps and saw him turn the corner before he again entered the house, closed the door and returned to his pantry. He was some minutes putting away plates, and then gathering the soiled dishcloths which the second man had left in an untidy heap on the floor, he turned off the light and went downstairs. The light in the lower hall had been left burning but dimly and in the almost complete darkness Jones stumbled against a heavy object and with difficulty kept his balance.
“Look out for my bag,” exclaimed a cold voice back of him.
“Schwein-hund!” The word slipped between the butler’s clenched teeth as he tenderly nursed his bruised shin, and with difficulty suppressed his desire to kick the bag down the hall as a small vent to his feelings. Suddenly he straightened up and, turning up the gas jet under which he stood, glared at Mrs. Ward, but her wooden expression gave no indication of having heard his ejaculation or observed his sudden badly concealed fury. Controlling himself by a supreme effort, he hid his feelings under his familiar suave manner.
“Why do you leave your bag in the way?” he asked, at the same time stooping to stand the suit case upright against the wall. “Shall I carry it upstairs for you?”
“No, put it down.” Mrs. Ward’s acerbity was unmistakable and Jones released his hold of the bag with alacrity, while silently marveling at its weight. “Go answer the bell, imbecile; do you not hear it ringing?”
Casting down the soiled dishcloths on top of the bag, Jones dashed by the housekeeper and ran upstairs, the front bell keeping up a ceaseless din as he hurried along; but in spite of his haste he paused long enough to scratch his bald head before opening the door.
“The bag had an ‘M’ on it,” he muttered. “It was no ‘W.’ I have a mind——” Another imperative summons on the bell sounded and he jerked open the door.
“Is Mr. Maynard in?” asked Marian Van Ness as she stepped across the threshold.
“Mr. M-M-Maynard,” stuttered Jones, his surprise at sight of Marian plainly evident. “No, miss, no ma’am.” Catching sight of her expression, his own changed to one of concern. “Are you ill, ma’am?”
“No.” Marian rubbed her cheeks, forgetting they were rouged, and unaware that it was the expression of her eyes which had alarmed the butler. “I have lost—I would like——” she pulled herself up short. “Has Miss Evelyn returned from the theater?”