“Slightly,” she said. All the time her busy brain was working. What should she do? She wanted an excuse for seeing the grounds. A main road passed near the entrance lodge, and she knew there was a village close at hand. Once she was on the road, there would be sufficient excuses to take her into the village and the protection which such a community would offer her.
“You would like to see some of our rooms?”
“No, I don’t think so. I would like to see your grounds. I thought I saw a bed of narcissi near the lodge,” she said, and rose from her chair, her knees trembling.
“Hum!” said Mr. Cody again. “Yes, it is a beautiful spot, but the ground is rather damp for you.”
“I would like to go out,” she insisted.
“Very good. If you will wait till I have had my second cup of tea.” He busied himself with the tray and the teapot. “By the way, you haven’t finished yours, and it is cold. Shall I pour you out another?”
“No, no, that will be sufficient, thank you.”
What a fool she had been! To accompany a strange woman—a woman against whom every instinct warned her—to an unknown house. Nobody knew whither she had gone.
She took the cup from him, steeling her nerves to steady her hand, drank a little, and was grateful for the liquid, for her mouth had become dry and her throat parched with the consciousness of her position. It was not nice tea, she noticed, there was a salty, metallic taste to it, and with a little grimace she put down the cup.
“Thank you, that is enough,” she said.
Perhaps it was the acute tension of the moment which left that queer aftertaste in her mouth. She had noticed once before in her life how sensitive the palate becomes in a crisis of fear.
In one corner of the library was a small coat rack, and Mr. Cody went leisurely to get his cap. When he looked round, Sybil was holding on to the edge of the table, her face white as death, her eyes glazed. She tried to speak, but could not form the words. And then, as he came to her, she collapsed in his arms.
He half carried, half dragged her to the sofa, and putting a cushion beneath her head, walked out of the library, locking the door behind him.
XIX
The round-faced chauffeur was standing in the open doorway, smoking.
“Where is Mrs. Cody?” asked Cody sharply, his face going dark at the sight of the man’s insolent indifference.
“Upstairs.”
“Go and tell her I want her.”
“Go and tell her yourself,” said the man, without troubling to turn his head.
Cody’s face went purple. It was evident that this was not by any means the first of their encounters. He mastered his rage with an effort, and, in a milder tone:
“Go down to the village for me, will you, Tom? I want some postage stamps.”
“I’ll be going down later,” said Tom, unmoved by his olive-branch. “Where is that girl?”
“Girl? Which girl?” asked the other, in a tone of innocent surprise.
“The girl you had in to tea. Don’t tell me she has just gone out, because I’ve been standing here for ten minutes, and I heard you talking when I was in the hall.”
Mr. Cody drew a long breath.
“She’s resting. The young lady is not very well. I’ve given her treatment—”
“Oh, shut up!” said the other contemptuously. “You ain’t a medicine doctor, you’re a doctor of laws—and Gawd knows some of ’em want doctorin’ from what I’ve seen of ’em! When’s she going home? I’ve got the machine ready.”
“She may not go home tonight, Tom.” Mr. Cody was mildness itself now. “It was arranged that she should stay tonight.”
Tom scratched his cheek irritably.
“She didn’t know anything about it,” he said. “When she got out she asked me if there wasn’t another way back to town, because she wanted to call in to see a friend.”
This latter was sheer mendacity on the part of Tom Cawler, and it was a slight coincidence that Mr. Cody had been twice deceived in half an hour.
“She’s not well, I tell you,” he said sharply. “And whilst we’re on the subject, your place is in the kitchen. I’ve stood about as much of you as I’m likely to stand, Cawler. You don’t think because I married your aunt that you own this place, do you? Because, if that’s your idea, you’re going to get a shock. I’ve endured quite enough insolence from you, and you can go.”
Tom nodded.
“I know I can go,” he said. “Because why? Because nobody could stop me if I wanted to go. I could go this very minute if I liked—I don’t like! This is a good job and I’m not going to lose it. I don’t know what your dirty business is—”
Mr. Cody exploded in anger.
“You—you scoundrel!” he spluttered. “You dare accuse your aunt of being—”
“I’ve got a great respect for my aunt.” Tom Cawler was still staring at the ground. “I owe a lot to my aunt. I got all my crook blood from her side of the family, and you couldn’t lay out any scheme for getting money quick that I wouldn’t think she had a hand in.” He glowered at the man for a second and then his eyes dropped.
“Yes, she’s been a good aunt to me, Cody! Ever heard tell of my twin brother Johnny? I’ve been dreaming about him lately. I see him as plain as if he was standing before my very eyes. And I was only seven when he went away—”
“When he died,” suggested Cody with unexpected mildness.
“Yuh—when
