It was consequently with keen disappointment that he stared at the small maid who had opened the door. To a man who has been expecting to see a butler with heart bowed down, small maids are a poor substitute.
"Hullo! Where's Spink?"
"Mr. Spink's gone off on his motorcycle, m'lord."
"Gone off on his motorcycle?" said Lord Shortlands, obviously disapproving of this athleticism. "What's he gone off on his motorcycle for?"
But the butler, it appeared, was one of those strong, silent butlers. He had not revealed to the maid the motive behind the excursion.
"Oh? Well, all right. Just wanted to see him about something. It'll have to wait. Lady Adela in the drawing room?"
"Yes, m'lord."
"Then come along, Cobbold, my boy. I'll take you to her."
The maid passed out of earshot, and Lord Shortlands seemed to preen himself.
"Notice how I called you Cobbold?"
"Very adroit."
"Can't start too early."
"The start is everything."
"Don't go forgetting."
"Trust me."
"And you, Terry, don't you go forgetting."
"I won't."
"One false step, and ruin stares us in the face."
"Right in the face. But isn't there something you're forfeiting, Shorty?"
"Eh? What's that?"
"The possibility of Adela sticking to this stamp."
Lord Shortlands gaped.
"Sticking to it? You mean keeping it?"
"That's what I mean. I feel I can speak freely before this synthetic Cobbold—"
"Do," said Mike. "Go right ahead. I like this spirit of wholesome confidence."
"—because there isn't much about your private affairs that you haven't already told him. He could write your biography by this time. Suppose she decides to set the stamp against services rendered?"
Lord Shortlands'jaw fell limply.
"She wouldn't do that?"
"She will. I can feel it in my bones."
"And what bones they are!" said Mike cordially. "Small and delicate. When I was a boy, I promised my mother I would never marry a girl who hadn't small, delicate bones."
"You must go and look for one. You and I and Clare between us, Shorty, must owe Desborough well over a thousand pounds by this time for board and lodging, and it isn't a thing Adela is likely to have overlooked."
"Then what the devil are we to do?"
"Would you care to hear my plan?" asked Mike, ever helpful.
"Have you a plan?"
"Cut and dried."
"He always has," said Terry. "They call him the One-Man Brains Trust."
"And not without reason," said Mike. "I'm good. Here is the procedure, as I see it. When we arrive in Lady Adela's presence, you introduce me to her. 'Shake hands with Mr. Cobbold' is a formula that suggests itself."
"'Mitt Mr. Cobbold' would be friendlier."
"She mitts you."
"Exactly. And I hold her hand as in a vise. While she is thus rendered powerless, your father snatches up the album and rushes out and hides it somewhere. This is what is called teamwork."
Lord Shortlands' eyes did not readily sparkle, but they were sparkling now. As far as he was concerned, Mike had got one vote.
"What an admirable idea!"
"I told you I was good. With my other hand I could be choking her."
"I don't think I'd do that."
"It's how I see the scene. Still, just as you please. Tell me," said Mike, the trend of the conversation and certain previous observations on the part of both his host and his host's youngest daughter having suggested a thought to him. "If I am not intruding on delicate family secrets, is your sister Adela what is technically known as a tough baby?"
"None tougher. Her bite spells death."
"I thought as much. Yet here I am, about to stroll calmly into her presence, impersonating an honoured guest, a thing which, if discovered, must infallibly bring her right to the boil. You must be admiring me a good deal."
"Oh, I am."
"'My hero!' you are possibly saying to yourself."
"Those very words."
"So I supposed. Women always admire courage. And how quickly admiration turns to love. Like a flash. It won't be long before you are weeping salt tears and asking me if I can ever forgive you for having tortured me with your coldness. A week at the outside. What is this door before which we have paused?"
"The drawing room. You seem to have forgotten the geography of the house."
"They didn't allow me in the drawing room much, when I was here before. Rightly or wrongly, they considered that my proper place was in the tool shed, playing ha'penny nap with Tony and the second footman. All right, Lord Shortlands, lead on."
Lord Shortlands led on.
There was a moment, when Mike caught his first glimpse of Lady Adela Topping, when even his iron courage faltered a trifle. He had been warned, of course. They had told him that the chatelaine of Beevor Castle was a tough baby. But he had not been prepared for anything quite so formidable as this. Lady Adela had just returned from the garden and was still holding a stout pair of shears, and the thought of what a nasty flesh wound could be inflicted with these had a daunting effect.
And apart from the shears he found her appearance intimidating. She was looking even more like Catherine of Russia than usual, and it is pretty generally agreed that Catherine of Russia, despite many excellent qualities, was not everybody's girl.
However, he rallied quickly and played his part well in the scene of introduction, helped not a little by the fact that his hostess was showing her most affable and agreeable side. His spectacular good looks had made a powerful impression on the woman behind the shears, who noted with approval that Terry also was looking her best. It seemed to Lady Adela that it would be a very young man who could fail to be attracted by so alluring a girl, and that Terry, for her part, unaccountable though she was in many ways, could scarcely remain indifferent for long to such outstanding physical qualities in a man whose father was a millionaire. She was cordiality itself to Mike.
"So delighted that you were able to come, Mr. Cobbold."
"So kind of you to have me, Lady Adela."
"I hope you will like it here. Terry must show you round after tea."
"She was just suggesting it."
"The rose garden—"
"She particularly mentioned the rose garden. She was telling me how romantic and secluded it was. 'We shall be quite alone there,' she said."
"Your window looks out on it. You might show Mr. Cobbold his room, Terry. There is just time before tea. He is in the Blue Room."
The door closed behind Terry and Mike, and Lord Shortlands, who during these polished exchanges had been shuffling his feet with some impatience, opened the subject nearest his heart.
"Where's that stamp?" he demanded.
"Stamp?" Lady Adela seemed to come out of a trance. In moving to the door Mike had shown his profile to her and she had been musing on it in a sort of ecstasy. Surely, she was feeling, a profile like that, taken in conjunction with a father's bank balance . . . "Oh, the stamp? You mean the one Desborough found."
"Yes. I want it in my possession."
"But it's not yours."
"Yes, it is. Certainly it's mine."
"Oh, of course, I had forgotten. You don't know. That wasn't your album. After lunch Clare started hunting around for things for her jumble sale, and she found yours at the back of one of the drawers of the desk in your study. It had your name on it, so there can't be any mistake. So the other one must belong to Spink."
A nightmare feeling that the solid floor was slipping from under him gripped Lord Shortlands.
"Spink!"
The name Spink has qualities—that "s" at the begining, which you can hiss, and that strong, culminating "k"—which render it almost perfect for shouting at the top of his voice. It was at the top of his voice that Lord Shortlands had shouted it, and his daughter quivered as if he had hit her.