His first impulse was one of regret. He felt a poignant humiliation to think that this young girl, a stranger in the house, should be aware of a thing of that kind concerning his father's wife. Yet, oddly enough, a second later, he realised that he no longer regarded Esther as a stranger. He felt as though he had known her for years; she had mysteriously become something quite personal. Strange, how the sharing of a secret knowledge can change a relationship.

When Esther opened the door into the bedroom, she was just in time to see Lady Clifford bending over the ill man, with one hand lifting up his head, while with the other she turned over the pillow beneath it.

CHAPTER XV

The Frenchwoman looked up with a slight start, then smiled.

"Ah, it's you, nurse!" she murmured. "You do not mind my being here, do you?"

Esther stood still for a second, trying not to betray that she was annoyed. Why couldn't the woman leave her poor husband alone?

Recalling the doctor's injunction to her, she wondered how she could convey the needed hint to Lady Clifford without giving offence.

"Did you want anything, Sir Charles?" she inquired a little pointedly, coming forward and gently taking the pillow out of Lady Clifford's hand.

"No, nothing at all," the patient replied somewhat fretfully.

"I thought he seemed so--so terribly hot," explained the Frenchwoman with a note of apology. "I always think when one is ill..."

She left her sentence unfinished while her eyes took a quick survey of the smooth sheet. Words Sir Charles had spoken a little while ago in regard to his wife's "fidgeting about his pillow" recurred to Esther.

"Were you looking for something, Lady Clifford?" she asked, cheerfully bland.

The Frenchwoman shot her a glance, her beautiful eyes wide with surprised negation.

"_Mais non_," she replied with a graceful shrug. "But why do you ask that?"

"I beg your pardon," murmured Esther, confused by the other's sweeping repudiation.

She settled the invalid on his pillow once more, noting the ghost of an ironical smile that flitted over his features. Between half-shut lids he watched the two women with an amused appreciation.

"I think, perhaps, it would be as well if you said good-night to him now, Lady Clifford," hinted Esther tactfully. "In a short time I am going to begin getting him ready for the night, and I like to have him absolutely quiet before-hand."

Hoping her suggestion would prove sufficient, she started removing flowers from the room. When she returned she saw Lady Clifford kiss the patient's cheek, then straighten up, wrap her neglige closer about her slender body, and move towards the door.

"_Bon soir, mon cher_," she called softly, kissing her finger-tips to him, "_dors bien!_"

So charming, so transparently appealing ... yet she had been looking for something under the pillow, Esther was convinced of it. Sir Charles, she thought, realised it, too. But what was it she had been trying to discover? Suddenly she recalled the will that Roger had taken out of the safe that morning. Ah! Lady Clifford wanted to have a look at it; she was nervous for some reason. It was like old Sir Charles to keep his intentions closely guarded.

Several times that evening she noticed that Roger's gaze rested on her with interest. She was feminine enough to wonder if he thought she looked nice in the little wine-red frock she had put on. It was such a relief to get out of her stiff uniform that she always managed to change for dinner when there was sufficient time.

As a matter of fact, Roger was thinking as she sat there on a low stool, one foot curled under her, that she looked absurdly young, hardly more than a little girl. He believed she could be frivolous, too, gay without being silly, as he put it. So few girls could achieve that....

"Do you like dancing?" he demanded abruptly.

"Do I not!"

"Then I'll tell you what we'll do. To-morrow evening we'll run down to the Casino for dinner and dance a bit. Would you care to?"

"It would be heavenly! But do I dare?"

She glanced at Miss Clifford.

"Why on earth not, my dear? When you're off duty, your time's your own. You needn't stay very late, if you're afraid of over-sleeping in the morning."

"Well, then, I will," Esther promised, her eyes shining with pleasure.

"Good girl! We'll have a regular beano. We both need it."

In the seclusion of her room that night Esther took out her best new evening gown, bought in Paris, and examined it with satisfaction. She had worn it only once; it had been a present from Miss Ferriss. Layers of filmy chiffon, peach-coloured, it presented a delectable picture as she spread it out on the bed. There was a s.h.a.ggy diaphanous flower of silver gauze to wear on the shoulder, and the shoes that went with it were silver kid, well cut and severe.

"It is adorable," she sighed gloatingly, as she fingered the delicate ma.s.s. "What luck to have it here where there are so many smart dresses!"

She held it up in front of the mirror. Yes, this shade of pink suited her perfectly; it brought out the bronze tones in her hair and heightened the rose in her cheeks.

"I wonder if he likes me, too," she mused. "Or if I'm merely something to dance with? Never mind, it doesn't matter. I do need a little gaiety. I hope the doctor won't object--but why should he? I'm not going to neglect my job. Still, he might; he's queer. That's the worst of having the doctor living in the house. Such a nuisance!"

She spent halt an hour manicuring her nails and then, still feeling wide-awake, decided on a bath. The bathroom was between her room and the doctor's. On entering she found it, as usual, so stiflingly hot that she was obliged to throw open the cas.e.m.e.nt window and let the cool, moist air steal into the room. For several minutes she leaned out, breathing in the night odours of the dark garden. With them came a heavier odour that was familiar, the acrid, pungent smell of the doctor's tobacco. By it she could tell that he, too, had his window open; he was sitting close to it, reading and smoking. She had no idea how he spent his evenings, but when she came to bed his light was always on. What an odd, self-contained, saturnine creature he was!

There was something so ponderous, so logical, so crushing about him.

Yes, that described him best, crushing. She always felt that he was ready to flatten her out....

Somewhere near at hand a door opened and closed again. Before she could decide what door it was she heard the low rumble of the doctor's voice addressing someone.

"Well," she heard him say somewhat brusquely, "what is it now?"

It was the exasperated tone one might employ to a rather tiresome child. She found herself listening idly, wondering who it was who had come into his room. A second later, with a slight shock, she recognised the unmistakable tones of Lady Clifford. As on a former occasion, she was puzzled to know how it was the doctor spoke to her in so peremptory a fashion. She could not catch the words of the Frenchwoman, but the doctor's reply was clearly audible.

"That was wrong of you," he was saying. "I distinctly told you not to try. Besides, I am sure you exaggerate the importance of it."

Lady Clifford's next speech, uttered in a querulous tone, was distinguishable, from which Esther concluded she had come closer to the window.

"But I tell you I must know the truth! I cannot rest until I find out.

Something warns me he has done something ... d.a.m.nable!"

"You will know soon enough."

"But, mon Dieu, when I know it will be too late!"

She seemed almost in tears. The doctor waited a little before replying, in accents of unmoved calm:

"Rubbish! How did this idea come to you?"

"I will tell you." The woman's voice was eager, importunate. "In January, when we were in Paris, he went to see Hamilton, his English solicitor. I thought nothing of it at the time, but a few days ago something he said made me think--made me afraid---- I don't know what he may have done. He is capable of anything, everything! I tell you, I am terrified!"

Esther, by the bathroom window, nodded to herself with satisfaction at the confirmation of her theory. So it had been the will Lady Clifford was trying to see! Matters were clearing up. She heard Sartorius say sceptically:

"Don't be a fool! Go back to your room; this is neither the time nor the place for these conferences. I have told you that before."