With an atrocious assumption of
courtesy, which a Borgia could hardly have outdone, the secretary
escorted this new captive of his net to the head of the stairway,
where his involuntary host awaited him.
And then ensued a long ghastly vigil of watching and waiting.
Once or twice Clovis left the house to stroll across to the
shrubbery, returning always to the library, for the purpose
evidently of making a brief report. Once he took in the letters
from the evening postman, and brought them to the top of the
stairs with punctilious politeness. After his next absence he
came half-way up the stairs to make an announcement.
"The Boy-scouts mistook my signal, and have killed the postman.
I've had very little practice in this sort of thing, you see.
Another time I shall do better."
The housemaid, who was engaged to be married to the evening
postman, gave way to clamorous grief.
"Remember that your mistress has a headache," said J. P. Huddle.
(Miss Huddle's headache was worse.)
Clovis hastened downstairs, and after a short visit to the library
returned with another message:
"The Bishop is sorry to hear that Miss Huddle has a headache.
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