“Isabel Benton.”
“Rather a high-sounding name for a maid, eh? We will return to her presently. I shall want to know more about her.”
“Well, sir, it won’t be much. Nobody could tell anything about her. She was a puzzle.”
“Indeed? I like puzzles—of that sort. Now let us return to your mistress. How did she appear when you saw her in the carriage? Was she pale?”
“I could not say, sir. Her veil was drawn tightly over her face so that I could not see her features.”
“Yet you are certain that it was your mistress?”
“Why, of course, sir.”
“But why, of course?”
“Just that it was her. I saw the carriage—the door was already closed and the coachman was on the point of starting the horses when I came up the walk. There was a small trunk on the box with the coachman, and I suspected that Miss Mercedes was going away, so I called to him to wait and ran forward before they started.”
“Good. Did she seem annoyed because you delayed them?”