work room which he kept littered with papers; and only the new butler, Charrington, was allowed to straighten its disorder.
This, of course, was not butler's business, but Knight said the footmen were stupid, and Charrington had been persuaded or bribed into performing the duty. Annesley's life of suppression had made her shy of putting herself forward; and though Knight had never told her that she would be a disturbing element in the den, his silence had bolted the door for her.
Constance, however, was not so fastidious.
"Oh, look!" she said, before Dick had time to switch on another light. "Nelson's got tired of his club, and come home!"
As she spoke, almost as if she had willed it, the door opened. But it was not Knight who came out. It was the younger Charrington, the chauffeur, called "Char," to distinguish him from his solemn elder brother, the butler.
The red-haired, red-faced, black-eyed young man stopped suddenly at sight of the newcomers. He had evidently expected to find the hall untenanted. Taking up his stand before the door, he barred the way with his tall, liveried figure, and it struck Constance that he looked aggressive, as if, had he dared, he would have shut the door again, almost in her face.
"I beg your pardon, madame!" he said in so loud a voice that it was like a warning to his master that an intruder might be expected. It occurred to her also, for the first time, that his accent sounded rather American, and he had forgotten to address her as "my lady."
This was odd, for his brother was the most typical British butler imaginable, as Nelson had remarked soon after the two servants had been engaged.
She stared, surprised; but Char still kept the door until his master showed himself in the lighted aperture. Then the chauffeur, saluting courteously, stepped aside.
"Funny that he should be here!" thought Constance. She might have been malicious enough to imagine that Nelson Smith had drunk too heavily at his club, and had been helped into the house by Char, who wished to protect him until the last; but he was unmistakably his usual self: cool, and more than ordinarily alert.
"Oh, how do you do?" he exclaimed. "I heard Char say 'Madame,' and thought it was Anita at the door."
"No, she has gone upstairs," explained Lady Annesley-Seton. "So has Dick. I alone had courage to linger! I feel like Fatima with the blood-stained key, in Bluebeard's house, you are such a bear about this den—you really are, you know!"
"I didn't expect you three so soon," said Knight, calmly. "If I'd known you had a curiosity to see Bluebeard's Chamber, I'd have had it smartened up. As it is, I shouldn't dare let you peep. You, the mistress of the house before we took it over, would be critical of the state I delight to keep it in. Untidiness is my one fault!"
"I'll put off the visit till a more propitious hour," Constance reassured him, "if you'll spare me a moment in the hall. It's only a word—about Madalena. She has asked me to call her that."
"The Countess de Santiago?" Knight questioned, smiling. He closed the door of the den, and came out into the hall, turning on still another of the lights.
"Yes. I've been to see her to-day. Will you believe it, she saw the whole affair of last night in her crystal—and the thief, and everything!"
"Oh, indeed, did she? How intelligent."
"But she says we mustn't mention her name to the police."
"She'd be lumped with common or garden palmists and fortune-tellers, I suppose."
"Yes, that's what she fears. But she wants to be in our Devonshire house party at Easter—to save us from something."
Knight looked interested. "Save us from what?"
"She couldn't see it distinctly in the crystal."
He laughed. "She could see distinctly that she wanted to be there. Well—we hadn't thought of having her. She seemed out of the picture with the lot who are coming—the Duchess of Peebles, for instance. But we'll think it over. Why don't you ask Anita? It occurs to me that she is the one to be consulted."
Now was the moment for Madalena's test.
"The Countess wished me to speak to you alone, and let you decide. Probably because you're such an old friend. I think she feels that Anita doesn't care for her."
Knight's face hardened. "She gave you that impression, did she? Yet, thinking Anita doesn't like her—and she's nearly right—she wants to come all the same. She wants to presume on my—er—friendship to force herself on my wife.... Jove! I guess that's a little too strong. It's time we showed the fair Madalena her place, don't you think so, Lady A?"
"What, precisely, is her place?" Connie laughed.
"Well, she seems determined to push herself into the foreground. My idea is that what artists call middle distance is better suited to her colouring. Seriously, I resent her putting you up to appeal to me—over Anita's head. I'm not taking any!
"Please tell her, or write—or phone—or whatever you've arranged to do—that we're both sorry—say 'both,' please—that we don't feel justified in persuading you to add her to the list of guests this time, as Valley House will be full up."
"She will be hurt," objected Constance.
"I'm inclined to think she deserves to be hurt."
"Oh, well, if you've made up your mind! But—she's a charming woman, of course.... Still, I shouldn't wonder if there's something of the tigress in her, and she could give a nasty dig."
"Let her try!" said Knight.
In the morning Constance telephoned to the flat in Cadogan Gardens. She had not long to wait for an answer to her call.
The Countess was evidently expecting to hear from her early in the day.
"He wasn't in the right mood, I'm afraid, when I spoke to him," Connie temporized. "He seemed to resent your wish to—to—as he expressed it—'get at him over Anne's head.'"
"That is what I wanted to be sure of," Madalena answered. "Now—I know!"
Chapter XV.
Nelson Smith at Home
The Countess de Santiago took her defeat like a soldier. But her line both of attack and defence was of the sapping-and-mining order.
Once she had cared as deeply as it was in her to care for the man known to London as "Nelson Smith." He was of the type which calls forth intense feeling in others. Men liked him immensely or disliked him extremely. Women admired him fervently or detested him cordially. It was not possible to regard him with indifference. His personality was too magnetic to leave his neighbours cold; and as a rule it was only those whom he wished to keep at a distance who disliked him.
As for Madalena de Santiago, for a time she had enjoyed thinking herself in love. There were reasons, she knew, why she could not hope to be the man's wife, and if he had chosen a plain woman to help him on in the world she would have made no objection to his marriage.
But at first sight she had realized that Annesley Grayle, shy and unconscious of power to charm as she was, might be dangerous.
Madalena had anxiously watched the two together, and at breakfast the day before the wedding she had distrusted the light in the man's eyes as he looked at the girl. It had seemed incredible that he should be in love with a creature so pale, so formless still in character (as Annesley appeared to Madalena); that a man like "Don" should be caught by a pair of gray eyes and a softness which was only the beauty of youth.
Still, the Countess had been made to suffer; and if she could have found a way to prevent the marriage without alienating her friend, she would have seized it. But she could think of no way, except to drop a sharp reminder of