“Egbert said it would be a frightfully good thing for me if I married him, and I said I’d rather marry an organ-grinder, and I banged out of the room and went and posted my letter to Stephanie. And when I came back I wanted my book which I’d left in the drawing-room, and I just opened the door to see if Egbert was there. And he was. He was standing on a chair looking at one of those frightful pictures of Papa’s which are supposed to be worth such a lot of money-you know, Lely, and Rubens, and Turner, and all that lot-only Egbert says some of them aren’t-not really. He says Papa got taken in over them.”

Turner-Lely-Reubens.

Margaret said, “Go on.”

“Well, Egbert was standing on a chair, so I didn’t think he’d see me; but he got down, and I had to hide. And then he rang the bell.”

“Well?”

“It was William’s bell. He’s new since last time I was home. He’s the stupidest footman we’ve ever had.”

“Well? What about it?”

Margot leaned forward. She looked frightened.

“Egbert rang the bell, and someone came-but it couldn’t have been William, because Egbert told him all about proposing to me, and he said he expected I should have to be removed.” She shivered and caught at Margaret’s dress. “Margaret, what do you think he meant?”

“I don’t know. You’re not making this up?”

Margot giggled.

“I can’t make things up-I’m not a bit good at it. But I’m quite good at remembering. Even M’amselle said I was good at that. I can tell you every word they said if you like.”

Encouraged by a nod, Margot proceeded to repeat the conversation which she had overheard.

“What do you think they meant?”

“I don’t know. Go on.”

“Well, I just packed my box and sent the other footman for a taxi. I thought I wouldn’t send William, and I thought I wouldn’t stay till to-day in case of anybody trying to remove me. It had a frightfully horrid sort of sound-it did really-so I thought I wouldn’t stay. And I thought Mr. Percy Smith might just as well let me come a day earlier, so I took a taxi-only I didn’t go straight to his house because I didn’t want anyone to know.”

“What did you do?”

Margot looked innocently pleased with herself.

“I told the man to go to Waterloo, and when he’d gone away, I took another taxi-to Mr. Percy Smith’s. And that took every bit of the money I had except a shilling. I’ve got the shilling still.”

“And what happened at Mr. Percy Smith’s?” said Margaret gravely.

Margot blushed scarlet.

“He was a beast.”

“You’d better tell me what happened.”

“He had a horrid face-a frightfully horrid face. And he said he was awfully pleased to see me. And he took me into a room, and he said now I must have a cocktail. And I said I’d rather not. And then he said a lot of other things, and I didn’t like them. Need I tell you the things he said?”

“No,” said Margaret.

“I don’t want to. I think he was a frightfully horrid sort of man.”

“How did you get away?” said Margaret violently.

Margot stared and giggled.

“He went out of the room-he said he wouldn’t be a minute. And as soon as he’d gone, I got so frightened that I opened the window. And there was an area, so I didn’t think I could get out that way, and I was just thinking what could I do, when the postman came up to the door. And when I saw him, I ran out of the room, and I got to the front door, and I opened it, and the postman was gone. And I heard someone call out behind me, and I was frightfully afraid and I ran. Do you think it was silly of me?”

“I should think it was probably the only sensible thing you’d ever done in your life,” said Margaret.

Margot giggled again.

“You said that just like M’amselle, only she used to say, ‘You are von little fool, Margot.’ ”

The name dropped out negligently, Margaret hardly needed it; the papers had been too full lately of Mr. Standing’s affairs. That he had a collection of valuable pictures, and a nephew with the unusual name of Egbert was public property. Margot Standing’s name and the fact that she had just returned from Switzerland were public property too.

The bell of the flat rang sharply.

CHAPTER XIX

Margaret went to the door.

The flat consisted of two small rooms with a strip of passage between them. Two thirds of the passage had been walled off to make a kitchen about the size of a boot-cupboard. The front door and the doors of the two rooms opened into the remaining third; there was just room for them and no more.

Margaret shut the sitting-room and opened the front door. Charles Moray stood there.

“Well?” he said.

“She’s in there.” Margaret indicated the sitting-room with a nod.

“Have you found out whether she’s a long-lost relation?”

“She isn’t.”

“Look here, I want to talk to you.”

“We’ll go over to Agatha Carthew’s flat-she’s away for the week end and I’ve got the key.”

They proceeded across the landing to Miss Carthew’s flat. It appeared to be devoted to the rigours of the simple life. There was linoleum on the floor and distemper on the walls; there were two Windsor chairs and a gate-leg table; and that was all.

Charles shut the door with a bang.

“I suppose she had your bed last night, and you slept on the floor,” he began accusingly.

This was unexpected, and Margaret laughed.

“Certainly not the floor.”

“That beastly hard contraption I sampled when I was waiting for you the other night then-and no bedclothes.”

“A rug,” said Margaret firmly

Charles made an enraged sound.

“Who is the girl? You say she isn’t a relation. Are you sure she isn’t?”

“Quite sure.”

“But her name-your mother’s name?”

“That frightened me,” said Margaret frankly. “But there’s quite a simple explanation. She is-well, she’s a goose, and she found what must have been a bit of letter from my mother with her signature. She told me she thought it was a frightfully romantic name to go out and earn her living with.”

Charles burst out laughing.

“What a mind! Hasn’t she got a name of her own?”

There was a moment’s silence. Margaret’s troubled voice broke in upon it.

“I think I’d better tell you what she’s been telling me. It’s all so odd, and I don’t know what to think. I mean she may be making it up, or she may be-” She hesitated, and then said, “Odd. I don’t know what to think really.”

“Better tell me the whole thing. And why not sit down instead of wandering like something in a zoo?”

He himself was sitting on a corner of Miss Carthew’s table. Margaret came to a standstill beside him. She leaned on the back of one of the chairs.

“I won’t sit-I don’t feel like it. Look here, this is what she told me.”

She unfolded Margot’s tale in Margot’s own ingenuous words and without comment, but she kept her eyes on Charles. Charles, for his part, listened impassively. She made nothing of his expression.

“Of course, she’s a first-class little fool, but I don’t think she’s capable of inventing all this. What do you think? And does it occur to you that she may be somebody who will be looked for?”

“What do you mean by that, Margaret?” said Charles.

“Just that.”

There was a pause. Charles looked at her, dived into a pocket, and produced a copy of the Evening Gossip. He unfolded it with a certain slow deliberation and held it out. Margaret saw the large headlines and caught the paper from his hand:

MISSING HEIRESS

INTERVIEW WITH MR. EGBERT STANDING

STRANGE STORY

She turned to get the light on the paper, and Charles got off the table and read over her shoulder:

“Has Miss Standing disappeared? When our representative asked Mr. Egbert Standing this question, he replied to it in the negative. ‘My cousin,’ he said, ‘has suffered terribly from the shock of her father’s death, and from the uncertainty of her own position. It is by no means certain that she will inherit Mr. Standing’s fortune. My uncle left no will, and up to the present no legal proof of his marriage has come to light. In these circumstances my cousin decided to leave London. We are not in any anxiety on her account. We desire no publicity.’ ”