“When,” she asked once, in a timid voice, of Mrs. Gunnison, “does Mr. Leeds go?”
“The early train,” the lady answered. “I believe he leaves the house before seven, or at some equally unearthly hour.”
The fresh sunlight of the early morning was flooding through the open hall door as Leeds came down the wide, main stairs. He saw, under the porte-cochère, the trap ready to take him to the station, and into which the second man, with the help of the groom, was lifting his trunk. Here and there a housemaid was busy with duster and cloth. The machinery of the establishment was being set in running condition, and there was the accompanying disorder. The place seemed strange and unfamiliar.
“Your keys, sir,” the butler said, holding out the bunch.
“Yes,” he answered, “I’m ready.”
As he spoke he started. Clearly in the stillness of the morning he heard a few soft notes struck on the piano. At that hour the sound was most unusual. He listened. The Flower Music of “Parsifal.” With a swiftness that left the astonished butler staring after him, he darted toward a door. In a moment he had torn the portière aside and had crossed the polished floor of the music room. Miriam was seated at the piano, her fingers resting on the keys.
“Yes,” she answered, neither turning round nor looking up.
“You are very early.”