Free Wiles of a Stranger by Joan Smith Page B

Lucien who called them to order, in his own inimitable and blunt way. “Aunt Stella always looks well when we are having company. She dresses up for hours.”
    “Children should be seen, and not speak unless spoken to, Lucien,” I felt obliged to tell him, but my heart was not in  it.
    “People hardly ever speak to me when there are adults about,” he replied.
    The major engaged him in some pleasant nonsense until Beaudel returned, then we all went along to the study for another view of the collection. I was not specifically invited, but as Lucien went, I tagged along. The jewels I have already described. The major examined them with the keenest interest, and a few comments indicating that he knew what he was talking about. The old Italian necklace he was particularly interested in. He was marvelously impressed with it, and hinted without asking outright why it was for sale. Beaudel repeated he was not actually eager to sell, and pressed the major for some idea of what price he had in mind.
    “I will have to have my man examine it thoroughly,” he said, to evade a quotation. It was a common practice for each party to push the other for the first bid. “He should arrive from London tomorrow. A pity to put him to the bother when Diamond Dutch is within a stone’s throw of your front door, but I don’t suppose they’d let him out.”
    “I wouldn’t let him inside the house if he were allowed out,” Beaudel said sharply.
    “Quite right,” the major said, in his tart, military way, that reeked to me now of playacting. “If you have any other such pieces, I would be interested in seeing them as well.”
    Mrs. Beaudel urged her husband to show him the sapphire, which Beaudel did, but unwillingly. She wanted the major to admire all the various pieces, but whether this was to have a chance to talk to him, or in hopes he would want to buy, was not quite clear to me. When the display was finished, she rang for Wiggins and ordered tea. You never saw a more proper butler than Wiggins, nor a more uninterested mistress than Mrs. Beaudel. Morrison was not the only actor in the house.
    Lucien and I were not included in the taking of tea. We went upstairs and I put him to bed, with all the little rituals established the night before. I did not learn by what sequence of events the major was invited to remain overnight, but when footfalls were eventually heard coming up the stairs, there were three pairs of feet, and a lady’s voice pointing out a guest room to Major Morrison.
    Knowing the lady’s predilection for nighttime meetings belowstairs, I was afraid to roam myself. Just what I might hope to discover was unclear besides, although I was curious to rifle Mr. Beaudel’s desk, on the off chance of finding some piece of incrimination. Before many more nights, I planned to follow Mrs. Beaudel and find out just what it was she and Wiggins did belowstairs, other than make love, that is.
    When at last the house settled down to silence, I tiptoed to my door and placed my ear against it, to learn whether Stella left her room. Hearing nothing, I opened my door and went quietly into the dark hallway. No light came up from below, but there was a line of illumination visible beneath the door of the room given to Morrison. Glancing at Lucien’s room, I noticed that his door was open. I went back for my lamp and went in, to see that his bed was empty. He was not in the room.  The most terrible misapprehension came over me, all in a flash. I took the idea someone was planning to harm him. Kidnapping, even murder did not seem too farfetched, there in the dark, thundering silence of the night. I had to tell Beaudel, of course.
    I turned down the hall to do so, past Morrison’s room. As I passed, I heard a snicker of suppressed laughter within, Lucien’s laughter. I did not know whether I was more relieved, or shocked, or angry. I was extremely agitated in any case, and went in that state to the major’s door and knocked sharply. I