8 класс. Физика. Издательство «ИДДК»

and in a very short time I shall expect to hear that all your roses have returned, that Sir Anthony is quite satisfied with your progress, I shall indeed."

      "Yes, yes. I am sure it will do me good," Judith said feverishly. "I love every stone of Heron's Carew, only, Anthony," her face clouded, "what of Peggy? Your mother is not strong enough—"

      "Oh, Peggy will be all right," Carew said with a certain carelessness. "As a matter of fact I have already written to Alethea about her, she is coming up to town next week and she will be only too pleased to take Peggy about."

      "You have written," Judith said with a puzzled look.

      "The very best thing, my dear lady," Dr. Martin interrupted briskly. "Lady Leominster will look after Miss Carew and you will go to Heron's Carew in search of health. Now, that is all settled, and Sir Anthony will feel more comfortable about you."

      When he left the room, shortly afterwards, Sir Anthony accompanied him and Judith was left alone.

      The idea of leaving London, of returning to Heron's Carew, had brought a transient flush to her cheeks, a brightness which faded all too soon from her eyes. For some time she waited expecting her husband's return. The day was warm, the wind was blowing from the south, it fanned her cheeks, it brought in the scent of the flowering plants in the balcony.

      More than a fortnight had elapsed since that terrible night in the Abbey Court flat; a fortnight which had held for Judith every species of imaginable dread. Every day the papers had made some mention of the mysterious murder; the inquest, after the first sitting, had been adjourned for a fortnight. To-day there had been hints that to-morrow the police would be in a position to place some important evidence before the coroner and the jury. There had been all sorts of rumours that Stanmore's mysterious visitor had been traced, that she was an actress, a noted singer, a society beauty. In her terror Judith had pleaded illness, she had broken all her engagements, she had refused to go out of doors, everywhere, anywhere, she might be recognized!

      One feature of the affair puzzled her considerably; so far, the man she met on the stairs had not been mentioned. Yet surely he must have come forward, he must have told the police what he knew of Cyril Stanmore, told them that the mysterious visitor, whose identity was arousing so much curiosity was Cyril Stanmore's wife.

      Nothing had leaked out so far with regard to Stanmore's identity. Why should he have taken the flat in the name of Warden, Judith could not imagine, save that with her knowledge of the man she was assured that his silence hid nothing creditable.

      It had been stated in one report Judith had seen that the deceased man had left no papers, no valuables, nothing to prove his identity or to show where his relatives could be found, neither had his relatives been forthcoming.

      But the man that Judith had met on the stairs knew as much as, or more than, she did herself of Cyril Stanmore's history. How soon would he speak or had he spoken already?

      Down below in the Square people were passing backwards and forwards; a couple of men were lounging against the railings opposite. Judith's gaze fell upon them and with a quick movement of alarm she drew back into the shadow of the curtains. It might be that they were waiting, hoping to see her, to identify her.

      A great longing for the quietness and the seclusion of Heron's Carew came upon her; there, in the spacious gardens she would at least be free from prying eyes. She listened eagerly for Anthony's return; she would beg him to make arrangements to go down to Heron's Carew at once—to-morrow, or the next day, surely it would be possible.

      As she waited she heard the man below whistling for a taxi. She peered out through the pattern of the lace curtain as it drove off. Sir Anthony was the only occupant; his face was grave, even sombre, as she caught a passing glimpse. Judith looked after him, vaguely puzzled. He had gone out after hearing the doctor's report without coming back to speak to her. Then for a moment she roused herself to a fuller consciousness. What was amiss with Anthony? His manner to her, which had remained as lover-like for the two years of their married life as during the brief intoxicating period of their engagement, had changed in this terrible fortnight to one of cold reserve. Was it possible that he had recognized her description, that he had guessed? The very thought drove every drop of blood from her cheeks, her lips; set her heart beating in great suffocating throbs. She hardly realized how long she had been crouching there behind the curtains, shivering with sickly dread at the bare notion of this new possibility, when another thought struck her. If they were to go down to Heron's Carew at once, there was something she must do. She pulled herself up, holding by the table at her side. It was curious how her physical strength had deserted her.

      At last, however, she made her way feebly to the bell, and rang it. Célestine made her appearance with such speed as to suggest that she had been remaining purposely close at hand.

      "But miladi is ill," she said, as she saw her mistress's ghastly face. "Miladi is surely faint. If she will let me get a glass of Sir Anthony's good wine—?"

      "No! I want nothing." Judith held up her hand. "But I am cold. It is possible I have taken a chill. Will you have the fire made up in my room? I shall be coming up directly. I always fancy I rest on the couch there better than anywhere."

      "It is one beautiful couch," Célestine assented, her sharp little black eyes scanning Lady Carew's face attentively. "And of course there is already a fire, miladi. Since miladi has not been so well I have kept one there every day, since it might be that at any time she might need it."

      "That is right," Judith laid her head back on her chair. "I will come up in a few minutes then."

      "Will miladi let me help her?" Célestine's voice and manner were respectfully sympathetic.

      But Judith shook her head. "No! no! I will come presently."

      She waited a little while gathering her strength together, then she made her way upstairs slowly.

      Célestine was waiting for her. The couch was drawn up as her mistress liked it, but Lady Carew looked disappointedly at the fire. "I told you I wanted a good fire, Célestine, a large fire, I am cold."

      "A—h!" Célestine held up her hands. "But the other day when the fire was not so large as this Miladi say that it was huge, that it would give her the fever. But, see, Miladi, it will soon burn up, be as big as Miladi likes."

      She deftly applied wood, piled up small coal, and presently the fire showed signs of becoming large enough to satisfy her mistress's requirements. Judith watched her with wide-open, miserable eyes. At last she said wearily:

      "That will do, Célestine, I feel warmer already. Now perhaps I shall sleep."

      "But I hope so, Miladi." The maid stood up and looked with distaste at her blackened fingers. "And if Miladi want anything she need not exert herself to ring the bell; if she would just speak one little word, I am at my needlework in the dressing-room, I shall hear."

      Judith raised herself on her elbow. "No! No! I can't have you in the dressing-room, Célestine; I can't sleep if anyone is moving about."

      The maid looked aggrieved. "But I will be as quiet as a mouse, Miladi. And I am putting on the lace of Miladi's heliotrope satin. If miladi should want it."

      "I shall not want it," Lady Carew said decisively. "We are going down to Heron's Carew directly, Célestine. Dr. Martin says the quiet will be the best thing—best for me."

      Célestine held up her hands. "Ma foi, it is a triste place, that Heron's Carew," she grumbled discontentedly. "Naturally Miladi does not require her magnificent toilettes there. Me—I expect always to die of megrim at Heron's Carew."

      "That will do!" Judith said wearily. "You understand, Célestine, I am not to be disturbed until I ring."

      Left alone she waited a while until the fire had burned up briskly, until there was a glow in the hot coals beneath that scorched her face as she sat there. Then she got up, rallying all her self-control, walked across to her jewel-case, and took out her little key. Holding it she paused a moment undecidedly; then with a gesture of infinite loathing she turned to the small wardrobe and opened the door.

      She