Maid In Waiting

“Their smell, Aunt Em!”

“Penetratin’. Has Jean written to you lately?”

In Di

“This hidin’ away is weak-minded. Still, it WAS her honeymoon.”

Her Aunt had evidently not been made a recipient of Sir Lawrence’s suspicions.

Upstairs she read the letter again before tearing it up.

“Poste restante, Brussels.

“DEAR DINNY,

“All goes on for the best here and I’m enjoying it quite a lot. They say I take to it like a duck to water. There’s nothing much to choose now between Alan and me, except that I have the better hands. Thanks awfully for your letters. Terribly glad of the diary stunt, I think it may quite possibly work the oracle. Still we can’t afford not to be ready for the worst. You don’t say whether Fleur’s having any luck. By the way, could you get me a Turkish conversation book, the pronouncing kind? I expect your Uncle Adrian could tell you where to get it. I can’t lay hands on one here. Alan sends you his love. Same from me. Keep us informed by wire if necessary.

“Your affte

“JEAN.”

A Turkish conversation book! This first indication of how their minds were working set Di

Adrian, whom she had not seen since Hubert’s committal, received her with his usual quiet alacrity, and she was sorely tempted to confide in him. Jean must know that to ask his advice about a Turkish conversation book would surely stimulate his curiosity. She restrained herself, however, and said:

“Uncle, you haven’t a Turkish conversation book? Hubert thought he’d like to kill time in prison brushing up his Turkish.”

Adrian regarded her, and closed one eye.

“He hasn’t any Turkish to brush. But here you are—”

And, fishing a small book from a shelf, he added: “Serpent!”

Di

“Deception,” he continued, “is wasted on me, Di

“Tell me, Uncle!”

“You see,” said Adrian, “Hallorsen is in it.”

“Oh!”

“And I, whose movements are dependent on Hallorsen’s, have had to put two and two together. They make five, Di

“I know that,” said Di

Adrian shook his head.

“They obviously can’t tell themselves till they hear how Hubert is to be exported. All I know is that Hallorsen’s Bolivians are going back to Bolivia instead of to the States, and that a very queer padded, well-ventilated case is being made to hold them.”

“You mean his Bolivian bones?”

“Or possibly replicas. They’re being made, too.”

Thrilled, Di

“And,” added Adrian, “the replicas are being made by a man who believes he is repeating Siberians, and not for Hallorsen, and they’ve been very carefully weighed—one hundred and fifty-two pounds, perilously near the weight of a man. How much is Hubert?”

“About eleven stone.”

“Exactly.”

“Go on, Uncle.”

“Having got so far, Di

“But suppose there’s no port of call?”

“They’re pretty certain to stop somewhere; but, if not, they’ll have some alternative, which will happen on the way down to the ship. Or possibly they may elect to try the case dodge on the arrival in South America. That would really be safest, I think, though it lets out the flying.”

“But why is Professor Hallorsen going to run such a risk?”

“YOU ask me that, Di

“It’s too much—I—I don’t want him to.”

“Well, my dear, he also has the feeling, I know, that he got Hubert into this, and must get him out. And you must remember that he belongs to a nation that is nothing if not energetic and believes in taking the law into its own hands. But he’s the last man to trade on a service. Besides, it’s a three-legged race he’s ru

“But I don’t want to owe anything to either of them. It simply mustn’t come to that. Besides, there’s Hubert—do you think he’ll ever consent?”

Adrian said gravely:

“I think he has consented, Di

“Yes,” said Di

Adrian’s answer was no less quiet:

“Your advice was right; and I’m fixed up to go, subject to this business.”

CHAPTER 36

The feeling that such things did not happen persisted with Di

Two days later Sir Lawrence a

“A little thing!” cried Di

“My dear, people’s lives and happiness are the daily business of a Home Secretary.”

“It must be an awful post. I should hate it.”

“That,” said Sir Lawrence, “is where your difference from a public man comes in, Di

“The diary’s printed—I’ve passed the proof; and the preface is written. I haven’t seen that, but Michael says it’s a ‘corker.’”

“Good! Mr. Blythe’s corkers give no mean pause. Bobbie will let us know when Walter reaches the case.”

“What is Bobbie?” asked Lady Mont.

“An institution, my dear.”

“Blore, remind me to write about that sheep-dog puppy.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“When their faces are mostly white they have a kind of divine madness, have you noticed, Di

“Anything less divinely mad than our Bobbie—eh, Di

“Does he always do what he says he will, Uncle?”

“Yes; you may bet on Bobbie.”

“I do want to see some sheep-dog trials,” said Lady Mont: “Clever creatures. People say they know exactly what sheep not to bite; and so thin, really. All hair and intelligence. Hen has two. About your hair, Di