CHAPTER VIII GLADYS NORMAN DINES WITH THOMPSON
I
"Tommy," remarked Miss Gladys Norman one day as Thompson entered herroom through the glass-panelled door, "have you ever thought what Ishall do fifty years hence?"
"Darn my socks," replied the practical Thompson.
"I mean," she proceeded with withering deliberation, "what willhappen when I can't do the hundred in ten seconds?"
Thompson looked at her with a puzzled expression.
"My cousin Will says that if you can't do the hundred yards in tenseconds you haven't an earthly," she explained. "It's been worryingme. What am I to do when I'm old and rheumaticky and the Chief doesthree on the buzzer? He's bound to notice it and he'll look."
Malcolm Sage's "look" was a slight widening of the eyes as he gazedat a delinquent. It was his method of conveying rebuke. That "look"would cause Thompson to swear earnestly under his breath for therest of the day, whilst on Gladys Norman it had several distincteffects, the biting of her lower lips, the snubbing of Thompson, themerciless banging of her typewriter, and a self-administered rebukeof "Gladys Norman, you're a silly little ass," being the mostnoticeable.
For a moment Thompson thought deeply, then with sudden inspirationhe said, "Why not move your table nearer his door?"
"What a brain!" she cried, regarding him with mock admiration. "Youmust have been waving it with Hindes' curlers. Yes," she added, "youmay take me out to dinner to-night, Tommy."
Thompson was in the act of waving his hat wildly over his head whenMalcolm Sage came out of his room. For the fraction of a second hepaused and regarded his subordinates.
"It's not another war, I hope," he remarked, and, without waitingfor a reply, he turned, re-entered his room and closed the door.
Gladys Norman collapsed over her typewriter, where with heavingshoulders she strove to mute her mirth with a ridiculous dab of pinkcambric.
Thompson looked crestfallen. He had turned just in time to see
Malcolm Sage re-enter his room.
Three sharp bursts on the buzzer brought Gladys Norman to her feet.There was a flurry of skirt, the flash of a pair of shapely ankles, and she disappeared into Malcolm Sage's room.
II
"It's a funny old world," remarked Gladys Norman that evening, asshe and Thompson sat at a sheltered table in a little Sohorestaurant.
"It's a jolly nice old world," remarked Thompson, looking up fromhis plate, "and this chicken is it."
"Chicken first; Gladys Norman also ran," she remarked scathingly.
Thompson grinned and returned to his plate.
"Why do you like the Chief, Tommy?" she demanded.
Thompson paused in his eating, resting his hands, still holdingknife and fork, upon the edge of the table. The suddenness of thequestion had startled him.
"If you must sit like that, at least close your mouth," she saidseverely.
Thompson replaced his knife and fork upon the plate.
"Well, why do you?" she queried.
"Why do I what?" he asked.
She made a movement of impatience. "Like the Chief, of course." Thenas he did not reply she continued: "Why does Tims like him, and theInnocent, and Sir James, and Sir John Dene, and the whole blessedlot of us? Why is it, Tommy, why?"
Thompson merely gaped, as if she had propounded some unanswerableriddle.
"Why is it?" she repeated. Then as he still remained silent sheadded, "There's no hurry, Tommy dear; just go on listening with yourmouth. I quite realise the compliment."
"I'm blessed if I know," he burst out at last. "I suppose it'sbecause he's 'M.S.,'" and he returned to his plate.
"Yes, but why is it?" she persisted, as she continued mechanicallyto crumble her bread. "That's what I want to know; why is it?"
Thompson looked at her a little anxiously. By nature he was inclinedto take things for granted, things outside his profession that is.
"It's a funny old world, Tommikins," she repeated at length, pickingup her knife and fork, "funnier for some than for others."
Thompson looked up with a puzzled expression on his face. There weretimes when he found Gladys Norman difficult to understand.
"For a girl, I mean," she added, as if that explained it.
Thompson still stared. The remark did not strike him as illuminating.
"It may be," she continued meditatively, "that I like doing thingsfor the Chief because he was my haven of refuge from a wicked world; but that doesn't explain why you and Tims – "
"Your haven of refuge!" repeated Thompson, making a gulp of amouthful, and once more laying down his knife and fork, as he lookedacross at her curiously.
"Before I went to the Ministry I had one or two rather beastlyexperiences." She paused as if mentally reviewing some unpleasantincident.
"Tell me, Gladys." Thompson was now all attention.
"Well, I once went to see a man in Shaftesbury Avenue who hadadvertised for a secretary. He was a funny old bean," she addedreminiscently, "all eyes and no waist, and more curious as towhether I lived alone, or with my people, than about my speeds. So Itold him my brother was a prize-fighter, and – "
"But you haven't got a brother," broke in Thompson.
"I told him that for the good of his soul, Tommy, and of the girlswho came after me," she added a little grimly.
"It was funny," she continued after a pause. "He didn't seem a biteager to engage me after that. Said my speeds (which I hadn't toldhim) were not good enough; but to show there was no ill-feeling hetried to kiss me at parting. So I boxed his ears, slung his owninkpot at him and came away. Oh! it's a great game, Tommy, playedslow," she added as an after-thought, and she hummed a snatch of apopular fox-trot.
"The swine!"
Thompson had just realised the significance of what he had heard.
There was an ugly look in his eyes.
"I then got a job at the Ministry of Economy and later at theMinistry of Supply, and the Chief lifted me out by my bobbed hairand put me into Department Z. That's why I call him my haven ofrefuge. See, dearest?"
"What's the name of the fellow in Shaftesbury Avenue?" demandedThompson, his thoughts centring round the incident she had justnarrated.
"Naughty Tommy," she cried, making a face at them, "Mustn't get angry andvicious. Besides," she added, "the Chief did for him."
"You told him?" cried Thompson incredulously, his interest stillkeener than his appetite.
"I did," she replied airily, "and he dropped a hint at Scotland Yard.I believe the gallant gentleman in Shaftesbury Avenue has somethingmore than a smack and an inky face to remember little Gladys by. Hedoesn't advertise for secretaries now."
Thompson gazed at her, admiration in his eyes.
"But that doesn't explain why I always want to please the Chief, does it?" she demanded. "In romance, the knight kills the villainfor making love to the heroine, and then gets down to the same dirtywork himself. Now the Chief ought to have been bursting withvolcanic fires of passion for me. He should have crushed me to hisbreast with merciless force, I beating against his chest-protectorwith my clenched fists. Finally I should have lain passive andunresisting in his arms, whilst he covered my eyes, ears, nose and'transformation' with fevered, passionate kisses; not pecks likeyours, Tommy; but the real thing with a punch in them."
"What on earth – " began Thompson, when she continued.
"There should have been a fearful tempest on the other side of hisribs. I should – "
"Don't talk rot, Gladys," broke in Thompson.
"I'm not talking rot," she protested. "I read it all in a novel thatsells by the million." Then after a moment's pause she continued:
"He saved me from the dragon; yet he doesn't even give me a box ofchocolates, and everybody in Whitehall knows that chocolates andkisses won the war. When I fainted for him and he carried me intohis room, he didn't kiss me even then."
"You wouldn't have known it if he had," was Thompson's comment.
"Oh! wouldn't I?" she retorted. "That's all you know about girls, Mr.
Funny Thompson."
He stared across at her, blinking his eyes in bewilderment.
"He doesn't take me out to dinner as other chiefs do," shecontinued; "yet I hop about like a linnet when he buzzes for me. Whyis it?"
She gazed across at Thompson challengingly.
A look of anxiety began to manifest itself upon his good-naturedfeatures. Psycho-analysis was not his strong point. In a vague wayhe began to suspect that Gladys Norman's devotion to Malcolm Sagewas not strictly in accordance with Trade Union principles.
"There, get on with your chicken, you poor dear," she laughed, andThompson, picking up his knife and fork, proceeded to eatmechanically. From time to time he glanced covertly across at Gladys.
"As to the Chief's looks," she continued, "his face is keen and taut, and he's a strong, silent man; yet can you see his eyes hungry andtempestuous, Tommy? I can't. Why is it," she demanded, "that when awoman writes a novel she always stunts the strong, silent man?"
Thompson shook his head, with the air of a man who has given upguessing.
"Imagine getting married to a strong, silent man," she continued,"with only his strength and his silence, and perhaps a cheapgramophone, to keep you amused in the evenings." She shuddered."No," she said with decision, "give me a regular old rattle-boxwithout a chin, like you, Tommy."
Mechanically Thompson's hand sought his chin, and Gladys laughed.
"Anyway, I'm not going to marry, in spite of the tubefurniture-posters. Uncle Jake says it's all nonsense to talk aboutmarriages being made in heaven; they're made in the Tottenham CourtRoad."
Thompson had, however, returned to his plate. In her present mood,Gladys Norman was beyond him. Realising the state of his mind, shecontinued:
"He's got a head like a pierrot's cap and it's as bald as afivepenny egg, when it ought to be beautifully rounded and coveredwith crisp curly hair. He wears glasses in front of eyes like bitsof slate, when they ought to be full of slumbrous passion. His jawis all right, only he doesn't use it enough; in books the strong, silent man is a regular old chin-wag, and yet I fall over myself toanswer his buzzer. Why it is, I repeat?" She looked across at himmischievously, enjoying the state of depression to which she hadreduced him.
Thompson merely shook his head.
"For all that," she continued, picking up her own knife and fork, which in the excitement of describing Malcolm Sage she had laid down,"for all that he would make a wonderful lover – once you could gethim started," and she laughed gleefully as if at some hidden joke.
Thompson gazed at her over a fork piled with food, which her remarkhad arrested half-way to his mouth.
"He's chivalrous," she continued. "Look at the way he always triesto help up the very people he has downed. It's just a game withhim – "
"No, it's not," burst out Thompson, through a mouthful of chickenand sauté potato.
She gave him a look of disapproval that caused him to swallowrapidly.
"The Chief doesn't look on it as a game," he persisted. "He's out tostop crime and – "
"But that's not the point," she interrupted. "What I want to know iswhy do I bounce off my chair like an india-rubber ball when hebuzzes?" she demanded relentlessly. "Why do I want to please him?Why do I want to kick myself when I make mistakes? Why – Oh! Tommy,"she broke off, "if you only had a brain as well as a stomach," andshe looked across at him reproachfully.
"Perhaps it's because he never complains," suggested Thompson, as heplaced his knife and fork at the "all clear" angle, and leaned backin his chair with a sigh of contentment.
"You don't complain, Tommy," she retorted; "but you could buzzyourself to blazes without getting me even to look up."
For fully a minute there was silence; Gladys Norman continued togaze down at the débris to which she had reduced her roll.
"No," she continued presently, "there is something else. I'venoticed the others; they're just the same." She paused, thensuddenly looking across at him she enquired, "What is loyalty,Tommy?"
"Standing up and taking off your hat when they play 'God Save the
King,'" he replied glibly.
She laughed, and deftly flicked a bread pill she had justmanufactured, catching Thompson beneath the left eye and causing himto blink violently.
"You're a funny old thing," she laughed. "You know quite well what Imean, only you're too stupid to realise it. Look at the Innocent – for him the Chief is the only man in all the world. Then there'sTims. He'd get up in the middle of the night and drive the Chief toblazes, and hang the petrol. Then there's you and me."
Thompson drew a cigarette-case from his pocket.
"I think I know why it is," she said, nodding her pretty headwisely. She paused, and as Thompson made no comment she continued: "It's because he's human, warm flesh and blood."
"But when I'm warm flesh and blood," objected Thompson, withcorrugated brow, "you tell me not to be silly."
"Your idea of warmth, my dear man, was learnt on the upper reachesof the Thames after dark," was the scathing retort.
"Yes, but – " he began, when she interrupted him.
"Look what he did for Miss Blair. Had her at the office and then – then – looked after her."
"And afterwards got her a job," remarked Thompson. "But that's justlike the Chief," he added.
"Where did you meet him first, Tommy?" she enquired, as she leanedforward slightly to light her cigarette at the match he held out toher.
"In a bath," was the reply, as Thompson proceeded to light his owncigarette.
"You're not a bit funny," she retorted.
"But it was," he persisted.
"Was what?"
"In a bath. He hadn't had one before and – "
"Not had a bath!" she cried. "If you try to pull my leg like that,
Tommy, you'll ladder my stockings."
"But I'm not," protested Thompson. "I met the Chief in a Turkishbath, and he went into the hottest room and crumpled, so I lookedafter him, and that's how I got to know him."
"Of course, you couldn't have happened to mention that it was aTurkish bath, Tommy, could you?" she said. "That wouldn't be youat all. But what makes him do things like he did for Miss Blair?"
"I suppose because he's the Chief," was Thompson's reply.
Gladys Norman sighed elaborately. "There are moments, JamesThompson," she said, "when your conversation is almost inspiring,"and she relapsed into silence.
For the last half-hour Thompson had been conscious of a feeling ofuneasiness. It had first manifested itself when he was engaged upona lightly grilled cutlet; had developed as he tackled the lowerjoint of a leg of chicken; and become an alarming certainty when hewas half-way through a plate of apple tart and custard. GladysNorman's interest in Malcolm Sage had become more than a secretarialone.
Mentally he debated the appalling prospect. By the time coffee wasfinished he had reached an acute stage of mental misery. Suddenlylife had become, not only tinged, but absolutely impregnated withwretchedness.
It was not until they had left the restaurant and were walking along
Shaftesbury Avenue that he summoned up courage to speak.
"Gladys," he said miserably, "you're not – " then he paused, notdaring to put into words his thought.
"He's so magnetic, so compelling," she murmured dreamily. "He knowsso much. Any girl might – "
She did not finish the sentence; but stole a glance at Thompson'stragic face.
They walked in silence as far as Piccadilly Circus, then in theglare of light she saw the misery of his expression.
"You silly old thing," she laughed, as she slipped her arm throughhis. "You funny old thing," and she laughed again.
That laugh was a Boddy lifebelt to the sinking heart of Thompson.
CHAPTER IX THE HOLDING UP OF LADY GLANEDALE
I
"More trouble, Tommy," remarked Gladys Norman one morning as JamesThompson entered her room. He looked across at her quickly, a keenflash of interest in his somnolent brown eyes.
"Somebody's pinched Lady Glanedale's jewels. Just had a telephonemessage. What a happy place the world would be without drink andcrime – "
"And women," added Thompson, alert of eye, and prepared to dodgeanything that was coming.
"Tommy, you're a beast. Get thee hence!" and, bending over hertypewriter, she became absorbed in rattling words on to paper.
Thompson had just reached the third line of "I'm Sorry I Made YouCry," when his quick eye detected Malcolm Sage as he entered theouter office.
With a brief "Good morning," Malcolm Sage passed into his room, anda minute later Gladys Norman was reading from her note-book themessage that had come over the telephone to the effect that earlythat morning a burglar had entered Lady Glanedale's bedroom at theHome Park, Hyston, the country house of Sir Roger Glanedale, and, under threat from a pistol, had demanded her jewel-case, which shehad accordingly handed to him.
As the jewels were insured with the Twentieth Century InsuranceCorporation, Ltd., Malcolm Sage had been immediately communicatedwith, that he might take up the enquiry with a view to tracing themissing property.
One of Malcolm Sage's first cases had been undertaken for thiscompany in connection with a burglary. He had been successful inrestoring the whole of the missing property. In consequence hehad been personally thanked by the Chairman at a fully attendedBoard Meeting, and at the same time presented with a gold-mountedwalking-stick, which, as he remarked to Sir John Dene, no one buta drum-major in full dress would dare to carry.
Having listened carefully as she read her notes, Malcolm Sagedismissed Gladys Norman with a nod, and for some minutes sat at histable drawing the inevitable diagrams upon his blotting pad.Presently he rose, and walked over to a row of shelves filled withred-backed volumes, lettered on the back "Records," with a numberand a date.
Every crime or curious occurrence that came under Malcolm Sage'snotice was duly chronicled in the pages of these volumes, whichcontained miles of press-cuttings. They were rendered additionallyvaluable by an elaborate system of cross-reference indexing.
After referring to an index-volume, Malcolm Sage selected one of thefolios, and returned with it to his table. Rapidly turning over thepages he came to a newspaper-cutting, which was dated some fiveweeks previously. This he read and pondered over for some time. Itran:
DARING BURGLARY
Country Mansion Entered
Burglar's Sang-froid
In the early hours of yesterday morning a daring burglary wascommitted at the Dower House, near Hyston, the residence of Mr.Gerald Comminge, who was away from home at the time, by which theburglar was able to make a rich haul of jewels.
In the early hours of the morning Mrs. Comminge was awakened by thepresence of a man in her room. As she sat up in bed, the man turnedan electric torch upon her and, pointing a revolver in her direction, warned her that if she cried out he would shoot. He then demanded toknow where she kept her jewels, and Mrs. Comminge, too terrified todo anything else, indicated a drawer in which lay her jewel-case.
Taking the jewel-case and putting it under his arm, the manthreatened that if she moved or called out within a quarter of anhour he would return and shoot her. He then got out of the window onto a small balcony and disappeared.
It seems that he gained admittance by clambering up some ivy andthus on to the narrow balcony that runs the length of one side ofthe house.
Immediately on the man's disappearance, Mrs. Comminge fainted. Oncoming to she gave the alarm, and the police were immediatelytelephoned for. Although the man's footprints are easily discernibleupon the mould and the soft turf, the culprit seems to have left noother clue.
The description that Mrs. Comminge is able to give of her assailantis rather lacking in detail, owing to the shock she experienced athis sudden appearance. It would appear that the man is of mediumheight and slight of build. He wore a cap and a black handkerchieftied across his face just beneath his eyes, which entirely maskedhis features. With this very inadequate description of the ruffianthe police have perforce to set to work upon the very difficult taskof tracing him.
For some time Malcolm Sage pondered over the cutting, then rising hereplaced the volume and rang for Thompson.
An hour later Tims was carrying him along in the direction of Sir
Roger Glanedale's house at a good thirty-five miles an hour.
The Home Park was an Elizabethan mansion that had been acquired bySir Roger Glanedale out of enormous profits made upon the sale ofmargarine. As Tims brought the car up before the front entrance withan impressive sweep, the hall-door was thrown open by the butler, who habitually strove by an excessive dignity of demeanour to removefrom his mental palate the humiliating flavour of margarine.
Malcolm Sage's card considerably mitigated the impression made uponMr. Hibbs's mind by the swing with which Tims had brought the car upto the door.
Malcolm Sage was shown into the morning-room and told that herladyship would see him in a few minutes. He was busy in thecontemplation of the garden when the door opened and Lady Glanedaleentered.
He bowed and then, as Lady Glanedale seated herself at a small table,he took the nearest chair.
She was a little woman, some eight inches too short for the air sheassumed, fair, good-looking; but with a hard, set mouth. No one hadever permitted her to forget that she had married margarine.
"You have called about the burglary?" she enquired, in a tone shemight have adopted to a plumber who had come to see to a leak in thebath.
Malcolm Sage bowed.
"Perhaps you will give me the details," he said. "Kindly be as briefas possible," his "incipient Bolshevism" manifesting itself in hismanner.
Lady Glanedale elevated her eyebrows; but, as Malcolm Sage's eyeswere not upon her, she proceeded to tell her story.
"About one o'clock this morning I was awakened to find a man in mybedroom," she began. "He was standing between the bedstead and thefarther window, his face masked. He had a pistol in one hand, whichhe pointed towards me, and an electric torch in the other. I sat upin bed and stared at him. 'If you call out I shall kill you,' hesaid. I asked him what he wanted. He replied that if I gave him myjewel-case and did not call for help, he would not do me any harm.
"Realising that I was helpless, I got out of bed, put on a wrapper, opened a small safe I have set in the wall, and handed him one ofthe two jewel-cases I possess.
"He then made me promise that I would not ring or call out for aquarter of an hour, and he disappeared out of the window.
"At the end of a quarter of an hour I summoned help, and my stepson, the butler, and several other servants came to my room. Wetelephoned for the police, and after breakfast we telephoned to theinsurance company."
For fully a minute there was silence. Malcolm Sage decided thatLady Glanedale certainly possessed the faculty of telling a storywith all the events in their proper sequence. He found himself withvery few questions to put to her.
"Can you describe the man?" he asked as he mechanically turned overthe leaves of a book on a table beside him.
"Not very well," she replied. "I saw little more than a silhouetteagainst the window. He was of medium height, slight of build and Ishould say young."
"That seems to agree with the description of the man who robbed Mrs.
Comminge," he said as if to himself.
"That is what the inspector said," remarked Lady Glanedale.
"His voice?"
"Was rather husky, as if he were trying to disguise it."
"Was it the voice of a man of refinement or otherwise?"
"I should describe it as middle-class," was the snobbish response.
"The mask?"
"It looked like a silk handkerchief tied across his nose. It wasdark in tone; but I could get only a dim impression."
Malcolm Sage inclined his head comprehendingly.
"You know Mrs. Comminge?"
"Intimately."
"You mentioned two jewel-cases," he said.
"The one stolen contained those I mostly wear," replied Lady
Glanedale; "in the other I keep some very valuable family jewels."
"What was the value of those stolen?"
"About 8,000 pounds," she replied, "possibly more. I should explain, perhaps, that Sir Roger was staying in town last night, and so far Ihave not been able to get him on the telephone. He was to havestayed at the Ritzton; but apparently he found them full and wentelsewhere."
"You have no suspicion as to who it was that entered your room?"
"None whatever," said Lady Glanedale.
"The police have already been?" he enquired, as he examined withgreat intentness a rose he had taken from a bowl beside him.
"Yes, they came shortly after we telephoned. They gave instructionsthat nothing was to be touched in the room, and no one was to gonear the ground beneath the windows."
Malcolm Sage nodded approvingly, and returned the rose to the bowl.
"And now," he said, "I think I should like to see the room. By theway, I take it that you keep your safe locked?"
"Always," said Lady Glanedale.
"Where do you keep the key?"
"In the bottom right-hand drawer of my dressing-table, under a pileof handkerchiefs."
"As soon as you can I should like to see a list of the jewels," said
Malcolm Sage, as he followed Lady Glanedale towards the door.
"My maid is copying it out now," she replied, and led the way up thestaircase, along a heavily-carpeted corridor, at the end of whichshe threw open a door giving access to a bedroom.
Malcolm Sage entered and gave a swift look about him, seeming tonote and catalogue every detail. It was a large room, with twowindows looking out on to a lawn. On the right was a door, which,Lady Glanedale explained, led to Sir Roger's dressing-room.
He walked over to the window near the dressing-room and looked out.
"That is the window he must have entered by; he went out that way,"explained Lady Glanedale.
"You spoke of a stepson," said Malcolm Sage. "He is a man, Ipresume?"
"He is twenty-three." Lady Glanedale elevated her eyebrows as ifsurprised at the question.
"Can you send for him?"
"Certainly, if you wish it." She rang the bell, and a moment laterrequested the maid who answered it to ask Mr. Robert to comeimmediately.
"Do you sleep with lowered blinds?" enquired Malcolm Sage.
"The one nearest my bed I always keep down; the other I pull upafter putting out my light."
"Did you awaken suddenly, or gradually – as if it were your usualtime to awaken?"
"It was gradual," said Lady Glanedale, after a pause for thought. "Iremember having the feeling that someone was looking at me."
"Was the light from the torch shining on your face?"
"No, it was turned to the opposite side of the room, on my right as
I lay in bed."
At that moment a young man in tweeds entered.
"You want me, Mater?" he enquired; then, looking across at Malcolm
Sage with a slightly troubled shadow in his eyes, he bowed.
"This is Mr. Sage from the insurance company," said. Lady Glanedalecoldly. "He wishes to see you."
Again there was the slightly troubled look in young Glanedale's eyes.
"Perhaps you will place Mr. Glanedale in the exact position in whichthe man was standing when you first saw him," said Malcolm Sage.
Without a word Lady Glanedale walked over to the spot she hadindicated, young Glanedale following. When she had got him into thedesired position she turned interrogatingly to Malcolm Sage.
"Now," he said, "will you be so kind as to lie on your bed in thesame position in which you were when you awakened."
For a moment Lady Glanedale's eyebrows indicated surprise. She usedher eyebrows more than any other feature for the purpose ofexpressing emotion. Without comment, however, she lay down upon thebed on her right side, closed her eyes, then a moment later sat upand gazed in the direction where Glanedale stood looking awkward andself-conscious.
"Perhaps you will repeat every movement you made," said Malcolm Sage."Try to open the safe-door exactly as you did then, and leave it atthe same angle. Every detail is important."
Lady Glanedale rose, picked up a wrapper that was lying over achair-back, put it on and, walking over to the safe, turned the keythat was in the lock, and opened it. Then, standing between the safeand Glanedale, she took out a jewel-case and closed the door.Finally she walked over to where her stepson stood, and handed himthe jewel-case.
"Thank you," said Malcolm Sage. "I wanted to see whether or not theman had the opportunity of seeing into the safe."
"I took care to stand in front of it," she said.
"So I observed. You allowed the quarter of an hour to elapse beforeyou raised the alarm?"
"Certainly, I had promised," was the response.
"But a promise extorted by threats of violence is not binding," hesuggested as he pulled meditatively at his right ear.
"It is with me," was the cold retort.
He inclined his head slightly.
"I notice that the ground beneath the windows has been roped off."
"The inspector thought it had better be done, as there werefootprints."
"I will not trouble you further for the present, Lady Glanedale,"said Malcolm Sage, moving towards the door. "I should like to spenda little time in the grounds. Later I may require to interrogate theservants."
Young Glanedale opened the door and his stepmother, followed by
Malcolm Sage, passed out. They descended the stairs together.
"Please don't trouble to come out," said Malcolm Sage. "I shallprobably be some little time," this as Lady Glanedale moved towardsthe hall-door. "By the way," he said, as she turned towards themorning-room where she had received him, "did you happen to noticeif the man was wearing boots, or was he in stockinged feet?"
"I think he wore boots, she said, after a momentary pause.
"Thank you," and Malcolm Sage turned towards the door, which washeld open by the butler.
Passing down the steps and to the left, he walked round to the sideof the house, where the space immediately beneath Lady Glanedale'swindows had been roped off.
Stepping over the protecting rope, he examined the ground beneaththe window through which the burglar had entered.
Running along the side of the house was a flowerbed some two feetsix inches wide, and on its surface was clearly indicated a seriesof footprints. On the side of the painted water-pipe were scratchessuch as might have been made by someone climbing up to the windowabove.