“It’s not a joke any more. It’s deadly serious. I’m quite sure,” he concluded in the manner of one who picks his words carefully, “that it may turn out to be just the most serious matter in the world to me.”
“As bad as that?” she queried, but the color that flamed in her cheeks belied the lightness of her tone.
“Quite. However, that must wait. Where is your uncle?”
“Up-stairs in his study.”
“Do you think you could take me all through the house sometime this afternoon without his seeing me?”
“No, I’m sure I couldn’t. He’s been wandering like an uneasy spirit since Peter Paul disappeared. And he won’t go out, because he is packing.”
“So much the worse, either for him or me. Where are your rooms?”
“On the second floor.”
“Very well. Now, I want one of these little boxes left in every room in the house, if possible, except on your floor, which is probably out of the reckoning. Do you think you could manage it soon?”
“I think so. I’ll try.”