During the three weeks preceding Lionel’s trial, Tom went to London about half-a-dozen times. He used to go up in the morning and come back in the evening. One morning he called at Alder Cottage on his way to the railway station. “I’m going up to town to-day,” he said, “and while there I mean to buy and send you a certain article of furniture.”
“Very thoughtful on your part, Mr. Bristow,” said Edith with a smile. “But would you mind telling me what the article in question is?”
“It is a mahogany wardrobe, and it has been made to fit into the recess in your dressing-room.”
“But I am not in want of a wardrobe, whether made of mahogany or any other wood,” said Edith, with a puzzled look.
“That doesn’t matter in the least. I shall buy it and send it all the same. The fact is I ordered it when I was in London a fortnight ago. I got Martha Vince to give me the measurement of the recess in which I want it to be fixed.”
Edith was mystified, but she had such implicit faith in Tom that she never demurred at anything he either said or did.
Two days later the wardrobe arrived. Tom in person had superintended its removal from the truck to the van at the railway station, and he was at Alder Cottage to receive it. The porters, by Tom’s instructions, carried it as far as the landing upstairs, and there left it.
“It now remains to be unpacked,” said Tom, “and then Martha and I, with Mrs. Dering’s permission, will try to fix it in the corner it is intended to occupy.”
“But why not have kept the railway men to unpack and fix it?” asked Mrs. Garside.
“Because there is a little secret connected with this wardrobe,” answered Tom, “of which we four alone must possess the key.”