The most commonplace incident takes on a new appearance if the
attendant circumstances are unusual. There was no reason on earth why
Mrs. Watson should not have carried a blanket down the east wing
staircase, if she so desired. But to take a blanket down at eleven
o'clock at night, with every precaution as to noise, and, when
discovered, to fling it at Halsey and bolt--Halsey's word, and a good
one--into the grounds,--this made the incident more than significant.
They moved slowly across the lawn and up the steps. Halsey was talking
quietly, and Mrs. Watson was looking down and listening. She was a
woman of a certain amount of dignity, most efficient, so far as I could
see, although Liddy would have found fault if she dared. But just now
Mrs. Watson's face was an enigma. She was defiant, I think, under her
mask of submission, and she still showed the effect of nervous shock.
"Mrs. Watson," I said severely, "will you be so good as to explain this
rather unusual occurrence?"
"I don't think it so unusual, Miss Innes." Her voice was deep and very
clear: just now it was somewhat tremulous. "I was taking a blanket
down to Thomas, who is--not well to-night, and I used this staircase,
as being nearer the path to the lodge. When--Mr. Innes called and then
rushed at me, I--I was alarmed, and flung the blanket at him."
Halsey was examining the cut on his forehead in a small mirror on the
wall. It was not much of an injury, but it had bled freely, and his
appearance was rather terrifying.
"Thomas ill?" he said, over his shoulder. "Why, I thought I saw
Thomas out there as you made that cyclonic break out of the door and
over the porch."
I could see that under pretense of examining his injury he was watching
her through the mirror.
"Is this one of the servants' blankets, Mrs. Watson?" I asked, holding
up its luxurious folds to the light.
"Everything else is locked away," she replied. Which was true enough,
no doubt. I had rented the house without bed furnishings.
"If Thomas is ill," Halsey said, "some member of the family ought to go
down to see him. You needn't bother, Mrs. Watson. I will take the
blanket."
She drew herself up quickly, as if in protest, but she found nothing to
say. She stood smoothing the folds of her dead black dress, her face
as white as chalk above it. Then she seemed to make up her mind.
"Very well, Mr. Innes," she said. "Perhaps you would better go. I have
done all I could."
And then she turned and went up the circular staircase, moving slowly
and with a certain dignity. Below, the three of us stared at one
another across the intervening white blanket.