THE BLUE DIAMOND (Murder Mystery Classic). Annie Haynes
Sir Arthur assented as he threw open the door of the morning-room and looked in.
Certainly there was no trace of the missing nurse to be seen in the cheerful, modern-looking room with its bright fire, its carefully-shaded lights and pretty bright furniture. Nevertheless, the young man went in and looked under the big Chesterfield, behind the heavy velvet curtains and the heavier pieces of furniture.
“Nothing here—so much is certain. Now for the small library,” he said. “Lock this door, Jenkins. Nobody is in there now, and nobody shall go in there until I have finished looking round.”
The small library was at the end of the short passage out of which the morning-room opened. A door opposite to that of the latter room gave easy access to the still-room and the housekeeper’s apartments.
Sir Arthur touched the handle doubtfully.
“Could she have made a mistake, gone through here and got bewildered among the passages at the back?” he debated.
“I could stake my oath she never came through there, Sir Arthur,” Mrs. Parkyns took the answer upon herself. “I was there in my room with the door open for above an hour just about that time.”
“Still, if you had your back to the door and she passed quickly,” Sir Arthur argued. “However”—as she sniffed displeased—“that can wait; every passage in the house will have to be looked through presently if we don’t find her.”
He went into the library; its severely plain furniture and book-lined walls afforded little scope for concealment of any kind. Sir Arthur glanced under the table, and then moved towards the door at the other end of the room, stumbling over some small object on the floor.
“Hallo! What is this?” he exclaimed as he picked it up. “To whom does this belong?”
It was an ordinary tobacco-pouch with a spray of flowers worked across. Jenkins shook his head.
“I couldn’t say, Sir Arthur. Perhaps one of the gentlemen’s.”
“At any rate, I suppose Nurse Marston doesn’t smoke tobacco, so it has nothing to do with her,” and he threw it on the table.
The second door into the room led into the conservatory. It was standing ajar now, and Sir Arthur turned to it. “I say, mother, perhaps, thinking you were keeping her waiting a long time, she went through here to the drawing-room.”
Lady Laura stiffened perceptibly.
“She would hardly do that, Arthur, when I was engaged with my guests.
“Or she has gone for a walk. By Jove, I dare say that is the explanation of it all!” Arthur went on, improving his opportunity.
Jenkins stepped forward.
“If you will allow me, Sir Arthur-— No, I felt sure I was not mistaken; the door into the garden is bolted inside and locked. Her ladyship bade me always see that it was fastened at six o’clock, to prevent tramps getting in, and I don’t believe there has been a day that I have been a quarter of an hour late. She couldn’t have gone out this way, Sir! Arthur, without leaving the door open behind her.”
This argument was unanswerable, and with a cursory glance round the drawing-room Sir Arthur led his mother back to the hall.
“Do you see the time, mother?” he said glancing at the big clock at the foot of the stairs. “A quarter to two. Time you were in bed, or we shall be having you laid up. Jenkins and I will have another look round and then I shall turn in myself. One of the maids will sit up in the nurse’s place, I dare say.”
“I will myself, Sir Arthur,” volunteered Mrs. Parkyns. “It will be just the same to me, my lady. I shouldn’t get a wink of sleep if I went to bed, I know that.”
“I do not believe that I shall, either,” said Lady Laura, hesitating as her son bent to kiss her. “Arthur, where can she be? You don’t think anything has happened to her?”
“Happened to her, not it!” her son said reassuringly. “Don’t you get nervous, mother. She has gone out for a walk or something. Back to her mother’s in a huff, I dare say. Jenkins’ bolts and bars won’t convince me.”
Lady Laura looked somewhat comforted.
“Don’t you think it would be better to send to her mother, Arthur?”
“It might frighten the poor old thing into a fit,” her son said lightly, though over her head his eyes met the butler’s meaningly. “I will walk down the first thing in the morning, if you like. Good night, and don’t alarm yourself, mother.”
An hour later there was a light tap at Sir Arthur’s door. He opened it instantly.
“Any news?”
“No, Sir Arthur. Her mother has not seen her since she came up, and is sure she had no intention of leaving.”
“Um! The mystery thickens! What do you make of it yourself, Jenkins? Is it possible that there is a young man in the question?”
The butler glanced away from his master’s face into the lighted room beyond.
“I never heard of one, Sir Arthur. The Marstons have always been folks to keep themselves to themselves. I have been wondering”—he flicked a speck carefully from his immaculate waistcoat—“whether it would not be as well for me just to go over and speak to Mr. Davenant first thing in the morning.”
“Why Mr. Davenant?”
“Well, sir, he—they have always been great friends, Sir Arthur—was talking to her in the avenue this afternoon for some time. It is possible that she gave him some hint of her intentions, sir.”
There was a pause. Then Sir Arthur said as he turned to close the door:
“I do not think that is at all likely, Jenkins. Had Mr. Davenant known anything of the kind he would have informed us.”
The butler bowed.
“Naturally he would, Sir Arthur.”
“Good night.”
“Good night, Sir Arthur.”
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