Free The Guinea Stamp by Alice Chetwynd Ley Page B

her hand against the glass doors: they gave at her touch, opening outwards.
    She stood still for a moment, gazing out into the darkness of the shrubbery. Of course, she told herself impatiently, she ought to have expected this. Why should he wait there for her return? He had gained a start of her, even if she had raised the alarm almost immediately after he had left. No doubt by now he was far enough away for safety.
    She felt an odd sense of disappointment, that was not all unsatisfied curiosity. Something about the man himself had attracted her interest: she would have liked to know him better.
    Slowly, she turned away from the windows, and stood by the writing desk, deep in thought.
    It was then that she saw the folded note.
    At first, she did not take in the superscription, although it was written plainly, in large lettering. A second glance revealed her name. Eagerly, she snatched it from the table, and opened it with fingers which trembled slightly.
    It bore only a few lines of writing, without any formal opening words.
    I fear I can add nothing to the little I have already told. Perhaps someday I may be able to disclose the whole to you. Until that time, trust me if you can — keep my secret, if you do. Your devoted servant, madam, J.
    She was reading this cryptic message for the third time, when she was startled by hearing the doorknob turning in someone’s grasp. Quickly, she swung round, the paper clutched in her hand.
    Mr. Dorlais and Captain Masterman stood hesitantly on the threshold.
    “May we come in?” called Guy Dorlais, cheerily, then, altering his tone as he saw her startled expression—“‘Pon my word, Miss Feniton, is anything wrong? You look as though you’d seen a ghost!”
    “I—”
    She stopped, struggling for composure.
    “By all means come in,” she continued, after a barely perceptible pause. “I was just about to return to the drawing room, in any event.”
    “Your grandmother dispatched us to help you find your scarf,” explained Guy, with a grin. “We didn’t dare refuse, eh, Masterman?”
    The other man made no reply. His eyes were fixed upon Miss Feniton in a puzzled stare. His gaze switched from her face to the open curtains: he strode towards them.
    “Why, these doors are unfastened!” he exclaimed, in surprise. “Did you find them like this, ma’am?”
    “No,” replied Joanna, carefully folding the note which she held, and so avoiding his eye. “I opened them myself. I—felt a little faint, and wished for some air.”
    Both gentlemen expressed concern at this statement, and Guy Dorlais offered to fetch Miss Lodge.
    “There is no need, thank you,” said Joanna, hurriedly. “I am now quite myself again. It was nothing—the heat of the room, no doubt.”
    She placed the letter carefully in her reticule, while both men watched her in silence. Then Captain Masterman closed the doors, secured them firmly, and pulled the curtains back into place before them.
    As he stepped back into the room, his sleeve caught at the penknife which lay on the desk, sweeping it on to the floor. He stooped to retrieve it, then paused. Following the direction of his gaze, she noticed with misgiving that it was fixed upon that portion of the carpet which was stained with Captain Jackson’s blood. The stains were not visible from where she stood: but surely at such close quarters, he could not miss them?
    “Anything up, Masterman?” asked Dorlais curiously, seeing the other man’s hesitation.
    “Nothing,” replied the captain, straightening himself, and laying the penknife down upon the table.
    He turned to Joanna. “I trust you found your scarf, Miss Feniton?”
    Joanna felt the beginnings of a blush rising to her cheek. She turned and set about tidying away the writing materials from the desk, in order to conceal it.
    “I must have left it in my room, after all,” she replied, as carelessly as she was able. “It’s of no account. I am warm again now. Shall we return to the