“I hope, Sir Raife, you’ve had a pleasant holiday, sir. We are all very glad to see you back again, sir.”
“Thank you, Edgson. Yes, very pleasant indeed.”
Then, with the licence of an old servant of the family, Edgson chatted on: “Pardon the liberty, Sir Raife, but we saw the announcement in the Morning Post, sir, Miss Muirhead who has just come to stay, sir. She’s your ‘fyancee,’ isn’t she, sir? She’s a very beautiful young lady, sir, if I may take the liberty, sir. And if that’s her father, sir, he’s a very handsome old gentleman— Again asking your pardon, Sir Raife, we, in the servants’ hall, wishes to offer you our hearty congratulations.”
Raife was accustomed to the old butler’s garrulity and smilingly replied: “Thank you, Edgson. And will you thank the others for me. If all goes well, we’ll very soon be having gay times in the old house.”
As he retired towards the door the old man talked to himself. “Ay! That we will, I warrant, if Master Raife has anything to do with it.” He had barely closed the door when he knocked and entered again. “Excuse me, Sir Raife—”
Raife was worried and said, rather impatiently: “Yes, Edgson,” then smiling a forced smile, added: “What is it this time?”
Closing the door, and looking around with an air of mystery, the old servant almost whispered: “Do you remember the night, sir, in last September, when I saw the light in the library, and I had the house surrounded?”
“Yes,” interrupted Raife, irritably. “What about it?”
The old man, once started, was not to be waved aside: “Well, sir, one of the under-gardeners, Hodgson, it was. He was at work among the rhododendrons, and he picked up a long piece of silk rope.”
Raife cut him short, saying: “Yes, I know, where is it?”