‘Are you there, Ada?’ she called discreetly.
‘Yes, ma’am,’ answered the faint voice from below.
‘You have not heard anything—no knock?’
‘No, ma’am, no knock.’
‘The door is open if you should call.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘The girl’s scared out of her wits,’ said Sheila returning to her audience. ‘I’ve told you all that miserable Ferguson story—a piece of calm, callous presence of mind I should never have dreamed my husband capable of. And the curious thing is—at least, it is no longer curious in the light of the ghastly facts I am only waiting for Mr Bethany to tell you—from the very first she instinctively detested the very mention of his name.’
‘I believe, you know,’ said Mr Craik with some decision, ‘that servants must have the same wonderful instinct as dogs and children; they are natural, intuitive judges of character.’
‘Yes,’ said Sheila gravely, ‘and it’s only through that that I got to hear of the—the mysterious friend in the little pony-carriage. Ada’s magnificently loyal—I will say that.’
‘I don’t want to suggest anything, Mrs Lawford,’ began Mr Craik rather hurriedly, ‘but wouldn’t it perhaps be wiser not to wait for Mr Bethany? It is not at all unusual for him to be kept a considerable time in the vestry after service, and to-day is the Feast of St Michael’s and all Angels, you know. Mightn’t your husband be—er—coming back, don’t you think?’