“Take us at once to Lady Stanchester, Mr Woodhouse,” he urged, as we went in by a side entrance to avoid any guests who might be playing bridge in the large hall.
Thereupon I rang for Slater, and told him to make inquiries where her ladyship was, and to take us straight to her.
Ten minutes later the old butler returned saying—
“Her ladyship is with the Earl in the blue boudoir, sir.” And eyeing Logan with some surprise, he added, “Will you step this way?”
We followed him upstairs, along a corridor on the first floor, until he opened a door, and bowing said—
“Mr Woodhouse desires to see you urgently, m’lady.”
Next second the four of us were in the small elegantly furnished room upholstered in pale blue damask and gold, where the Earl and his wife were in consultation.
“You!” he cried in fury, when his eyes fell upon Lolita. “Leave this place at once, woman! Marigold has just told me everything—that it was you who killed your lover in the park—that it was you who—”
“Excuse me, my lord,” interrupted Logan, coming forward, whereupon at sight of him the Countess fell back with a loud cry of dismay—a deathly pallor overspreading her countenance.
Her hand went to her throat convulsively and she gasped as though she were being strangled. Then, next instant, her teeth were set hard, her nails were clenched into the palms, her shoulders were elevated, and she stood rigid as a statue, and yet magnificent in her dinner-gown of pale pink and shimmering silver.