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Page 46
"I shan't."
Kitty departed, smiling. Her thought was: he had kissed her and hadn't
wanted to! (Ah, but he had; and not till long hours after did he
realize that there had been as much Thomas as Machiavelli in that
futile inspiration!)
Report 47, on the difference between the shipments to Europe and
America. Very dry, very dull; what with the glorious sunshine outside
and the chance to play, Report 47 was damnable. A bird-like peck at
the inkwell, and the pen began to scratch-scratch-scratch. He was
twenty-four; by the time he was thirty he ought to . . .
"Beg pardon, sir!"
Lord Monckton's valet stood before the desk. Thomas did not like this
man, with his soundless approaches, his thin nervous fingers, his
brilliant roving eyes. Where had he been picked up? A perfect
servant, yes; but it seemed to Thomas that the man was always expecting
some one to come up behind him. Those quick cat-like glances over his
shoulder were not reassuring. Dark, swarthy; and yet that odd white
scar in the scalp above his ear. That ought to have been dark,
logically.
"What is it?"
"Lord Monckton has dropped his glass somewhere, sir, and he sent me to
inquire, sir."
"Oh, here it is. And tell your master to be very careful of it. Some
one might step on it."
"Thank you, sir." The valet departed as noiselessly as he had entered.
"Really," mused Thomas, "there's a rum chap. I don't like him around.
He gives me the what-d'-y'-call-it."
They needed an extra man at the table that night, so Thomas came down.
He found himself between two jolly young women, opposite Kitty who
divided her time between Lord Monckton and a young millionaire who,
rumor bruited it, was very attentive to Killigrew's daughter. Still,
Thomas enjoyed himself. Nobody seemed to mind that he was only a clerk
in the house. The simpleton did not realize that he was a personage to
these people; an English private secretary, quite a social stroke on
the part of the Killigrews.
He gathered odd bits of news of what was going on among the summer
colonists. The lady next to Killigrew, a Mrs. Wilberforce, had had a
strange adventure the night before. She and her maid had been
mysteriously overpowered by some strange fume, and later discovered
that her pearls were gone. She had notified the town police. This
brought the conversation around to the maharajah's emeralds. Hadn't he
and his attendants been overcome in the same manner? Thomas thought of
the sapphires. Since nobody knew he had them, he stood in no danger.
But there was Kitty's great fire-opal, glowing like a coal on her
breast, seeming to breathe as she breathed. It was almost as large as
a crown-piece.
During lulls Thomas dreamed. He was going to give himself until thirty
to make his fortune; and he was going to make it down there in the
wilds of South America. But invariably the sleepy mocking eyes of Lord
Monckton brought him back to earth, jarringly.
Once, Kitty caught Thomas gazing malevolently at Lord Monckton. No
love lost between them, evidently. It was the ancient story: to wager,
to borrow, to lend, to lose a friend.
Long after midnight Kitty awoke. She awoke hungry. So she put on her
slippers and peignoir and stole down-stairs. The grills on each side
of the entrance to the main hall were open; that is, the casement
windows were thrown back. She heard voices and naturally paused to
learn whose they were. She would have known them anywhere in the world.
"Tut, tut, Tommy; don't be a bally ass and lose your temper."
"Temper? Lose my temper? I'm not losing it, but I'm jolly well tired
of this rotten business."
"It was you who suggested the wager; I only accepted it."
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