Martin shot abominably that day, and, coming home in the evening gloomy and savage, went straight to his room, and did not reappear till dinner-time. Elsa had been taken in by one of the moustache- tuggers. Martin found himself seated on her other side. It was so pleasant to be near her, and to feel that the bard was away at the other end of the table, that for the moment his spirits revived.
'Well, how did you like the ride?' he asked, with a smile. 'Did you put that girdle round the world?'
She looked at him-once. The next moment he had an uninterrupted view of her shoulder, and heard the sound of her voice as she prattled gaily to the man on her other side.
His heart gave a sudden bound. He understood now. The demon butler had had his wicked way. Good heavens! She had thought he was taunting her! He must explain at once. He-
'Hock or sherry, sir?'
He looked up into Keggs's expressionless eyes. The butler was wearing his on-duty mask. There was no sign of triumph in his face.
'Oh, sherry. I mean hock. No, sherry. Neither.'
This was awful. He must put this right.
'Elsa,' he said.
She was engrossed in her conversation with her neighbour.
From down the table in a sudden lull in the talk came the voice of Mr. Barstowe. He seemed to be in the middle of a narrative.
'Fortunately,' he was saying, 'I had with me a volume of Shelley, and one of my own little efforts. I had read Miss Keith the whole of the latter and much of the former before the chauffeur announced that it was once more possible-'
'Elsa,' said the wretched man, 'I had no idea-you don't think-'
She turned to him.
'I beg your pardon?' she said, very sweetly.
'I swear I didn't know-I mean, I'd forgotten-I mean-'
She wrinkled her forehead.
'I'm really afraid I don't understand.'
'I mean, about the car breaking down.'
'The car? Oh, yes. Yes, it broke down. We were delayed quite a little while. Mr. Barstowe read me some of his poems. It was perfectly lovely. I was quite sorry when Roberts told us we could go on again. But do you really mean to tell me' Mr. Lambert, that you-'
And once more the world became all shoulder.
When the men trailed into the presence of the ladies for that brief seance on which etiquette insisted before permitting the stampede to the billiard-room Elsa was not to be seen.
'Elsa?' said Mrs. Keith in answer to Martin's question. 'She has gone to bed. The poor child has a headache. I am afraid she had a tiring day.'
There was an early start for the guns next morning, and as Elsa did not appear at breakfast Martin had to leave without seeing her. His shooting was even worse than it had been on the previous day.
It was not till late in the evening that the party returned to the house. Martin, on the way to his room, met Mrs. Keith on the stairs. She appeared somewhat agitated.
'Oh, Martin,' she said, 'I'm so glad you're back. Have you seen anything of Elsa?'
'Elsa?'
'Wasn't she with the guns?'
'With the guns?' said Martin, puzzled. 'No.'
'I have seen nothing of her all day. I'm getting worried. I can't think what can have happened to her. Are you sure she wasn't with the guns?'
'Absolutely certain. Didn't she come in to lunch?'
'No, Tom,' she said, as Mr. Keith came up, 'I'm so worried about Elsa. I haven't seen her all day. I thought she must be out with the guns.'
Mr. Keith was a man who had built up a large fortune mainly by consistently refusing to allow anything to agitate him. He carried this policy into private life.
'Wasn't she in at lunch?' he asked, placidly.
'I tell you I haven't seen her all day. She breakfasted in her room-'
'Late?'
'Yes. She was tired, poor girl.'
'If she breakfasted late,' said Mr. Keith, 'she wouldn't need any lunch. She's gone for a stroll somewhere.'
'Would you put back dinner, do you think?' inquired Mrs. Keith, anxiously.
'I am not good at riddles,' said Mr. Keith, comfortably, 'but I can answer that one. I would not put back dinner.
