"You think that Lady Maud gave Albert a letter to give to me, and
that he destroyed it?"
"Such, I should imagine, must undoubtedly have been the case. The
boy 'as no scruples, no scruples whatsoever."
"Good Lord!"
"I appreciate your consternation, sir."
"That must be exactly what has happened."
"To my way of thinking there is no doubt of it. It was for that
reason that I ventured to come 'ere. In the 'ope that I might be
hinstrumental in arranging a meeting."
The strong distaste which George had had for plotting with this
overfed menial began to wane. It might be undignified, he told
himself but it was undeniably practical. And, after all, a man who
has plotted with page-boys has little dignity to lose by plotting
with butlers. He brightened up. If it meant seeing Maud again he
was prepared to waive the decencies.
"What do you suggest?" he said.
"It being a rainy evening and everyone indoors playing games and
what not,"--Keggs was amiably tolerant of the recreations of the
aristocracy--"you would experience little chance of a hinterruption,
were you to proceed to the lane outside the heast entrance of the
castle grounds and wait there. You will find in the field at the
roadside a small disused barn only a short way from the gates, where
you would be sheltered from the rain. In the meantime, I would
hinform 'er ladyship of your movements, and no doubt it would be
possible for 'er to slip off."
"It sounds all right."
"It is all right, sir. The chances of a hinterruption may be said
to be reduced to a minimum. Shall we say in one hour's time?"
"Very well."
"Then I will wish you good evening, sir. Thank you, sir. I am glad
to 'ave been of assistance."
He withdrew as he had come, with a large impressiveness. The room
seemed very empty without him. George, with trembling fingers,
began to put on a pair of thick boots.
For some minutes after he had set foot outside the door of the
cottage, George was inclined to revile the weather for having
played him false. On this evening of all evenings, he felt, the
elements should, so to speak, have rallied round and done their
bit. The air should have been soft and clear and scented: there
should have been an afterglow of sunset in the sky to light him on
his way. Instead, the air was full of that peculiar smell of
hopeless dampness which comes at the end of a wet English day. The
sky was leaden. The rain hissed down in a steady flow, whispering
of mud and desolation, making a dreary morass of the lane through
which he tramped. A curious sense of foreboding came upon George.
It was as if some voice of the night had murmured maliciously in
his ear a hint of troubles to come. He felt oddly nervous, as he
entered the barn.