“Clementina has ‘slept in’ herself,” he decided, “and everything will go wrong together.”
By way of making a move in the right direction, he went into the hall and performed vigorously on a little gong which stood there. Clementina usually did this twice—a wakening peal and a breakfast peal, with an interval of half an hour. To warn everybody that things were not going on us usual, Tom promptly repeated his performance.
It did not bring Clementina upon the scene, dishevelled and in deep self-humiliation. The first appearance was Miss Latimer, who came downstairs, her usual prim self, saying—
“What is the matter? I have been up for a while, but I had forgotten to wind my watch, and the house was so quiet that I thought I had mistaken the time, and in hope Mrs. Challoner is resting I did not wish to rouse her.”
“I don’t think Clementina can be up herself,” said Tom.
Miss Latimer glanced round the dining-room.
“Perhaps she is ill,” she said. “She looked rather pale last night. She seems a very sympathetic person.”
Miss Latimer called down the kitchen stair, but there was no answer save that the cat came forward, mewing in the appealing fashion common to cats when they feel themselves unfairly deprived of human society.
“Clementina must be still in her room,” said the old lady, and she bustled up to the topmost storey, Tom following at her heels.
One or two vigorous knocks produced no effect, so they tried the door. It was locked, and the key was evidently not in the lock on either side.