Pirnie recovered her self-possession with an effort.
"Hoping is one thing; doing is another. If Herbert Soames thinks that he can reckon on me and treat me as he likes—well, he will find out his mistake, that is all."
A faint smile gleamed for a second in the inspector's keen eyes.
"Ay! When I saw you sitting here, I thought to myself that you might be waiting for Mr. Soames and hesitated about butting in. Then I thought again and I thought to myself, 'No, Miss Pirnie is the sort that men wait for, not that waits for them,' and I came across to you. But if I have made a mistake—"
"You haven't!" Pirnie snapped. She got up with a jerk, her long black veil floating round her, the flush on her cheeks showing more plainly than ever against her rouge and powder. "Come, then, I believe I will go with you to the tea-rooms after all," she said, with an attempt at coquetry that deepened Furnival's unseen smile.
They walked across the Row, and went down the passage by the barracks. The tea-rooms were in a side street off Knightsbridge. Furnival was fortunate enough to secure a corner table and they sat down. He ordered a sumptuous tea. Pirnie's eyes sparkled. She loved the good things and bright places of life, and since Lady Anne's death she had felt as if she were living in some strange and horrible dream. She told herself now that surely this must be a very pleasant and unexpected awakening. Under the influence of the hot creamed tea and the hot buttered muffins she waxed loquacious, and, Furnival leading her on, chattered at considerable length about the household at Charlton Crescent. She little knew how much she revealed, but the precise information for which he was waiting did not come. He saw that he would have to put a few leading questions.
Hitching his chair a little nearer the table, he leaned across.
"I expect her ladyship did not often go out with you, Miss Pirnie?"
"Without me?" Pirnie opened her eyes. "Her ladyship hadn't been out without me for years. Even if Miss Fyvert or Miss Balmaine went with her, she would have me with her in case she wanted anything."
"Is that so? Well, I don't wonder at it," the inspector said gallantly. "But it is a funny thing now. A man I met the other day told me he saw Lady Anne Daventry driving up Piccadilly by herself one afternoon, it may be a month ago now."
Pirnie's eyes opened wider and wider. Her affectation dropped from her momentarily.
"That he never did, I will swear. Why, her ladyship hadn't been out for months before she died. Let me see—in October it would be—she went to buy a wedding present for Lord Fyvert, and when she came back home she said, 'Pirnie,' she said, 'it is the last time. It tires me too much. For the future the tradesmen will have to send their goods to me. I shall not go outside the garden.' And she kept to that, Mr. Furnival. Not once afterwards did she put her nose outside the garden."
"Um! That so?" said the inspector, stirring his tea thoughtfully. "Well, folks will say anything. Do you know what I heard the other day—that people are making bets that it was Lady Anne herself that sold her pearls and then pretended to have lost them!"
"What!" Genuine indignation coloured the maid's face now. "I never heard such a wicked thing in my life. My poor lady that never lived up to her income, and always put some by every year, to be accused of selling her own pearls that she loved so for the sake of her father and mother. Besides"—cooling down a little—"if she had done such a thing she would have kept quiet and nobody would have known anything about it in her lifetime. She would not have called the police in, it stands to reason, if she had sold them herself. Why should she?"
"Why, indeed?" The inspector gazed in front of him, pulling thoughtfully at his clean-shaven chin. "Besides, as you say, she couldn't have got to Spagnum's by herself and without your knowing."
"No, that she never did, I will swear," Pirnie answered positively.
"That settles the matter," the inspector said, taking up another cake and changing the subject. "You must be glad to get away from the house in Charlton Crescent, Miss Pirnie."
Pirnie clasped her hands. "Oh, I can't tell you how glad! It has been terrible there of late. Not knowing! And being afraid of everybody. Mr. Furnival—who do you think killed my lady?"
The inspector met the question with another. "Who do you?" he returned sharply.
Pirnie shivered. "I don't know," she whispered hoarsely. "But I am frightened—I dare not even think—"
The inspector reached over the tea-tray and laid his firm strong hand upon the quivering shaking one lying on the edge of the table. "Don't think of it," he advised. "Put it out of your mind. At any rate Lady Anne valued your services and appreciated them as you deserved. And you loved her—you had nothing to do with her awful fate. You could not help it."
To his consternation Pirnie burst into tears. "No! No! I could not help it," she sobbed. "I lie awake night after night thinking what I might have done to safeguard my lady."
"Shouldn't do that! It is very bad for you," the inspector said in a strictly non-committal voice.
There were not many people in the room, none really within earshot, but the few there were were beginning to glance at them curiously. The inspector had no wish to be recognized.
"And now, dear lady, if you will put your handkerchief away and take another cup of tea, I will tell you a queer thing that has happened. It hasn't got into the papers yet, so far as I know."
Curiosity dried Pirnie's tears. "What is it, Mr. Furnival? You may depend upon me."
"I know I can," the inspector said with a sympathetic glance. "You would be a loyal friend, Miss Pirnie, whatever happened. And this is a terrible thing. The child has disappeared."
"The child!" Pirnie repeated in a tone only half comprehending and wholly incredulous. "You don't—you can't mean Miss Maureen?"
The inspector nodded. "Yes! She disappeared while travelling down to North Coton yesterday with the Fyverts and her sister and Miss Balmaine."
"Disappeared!" Pirnie's eyes grew round with horror. "Inspector, how could she—out of a railway carriage?"
The inspector coughed. "Well, I didn't mean literally out of a railway carriage. As a matter of fact she was seen at the junction. Every one seems to have thought she was with some one else and she was not discovered to be missing until they reached North Coton Rectory. Her sister is nearly out of her mind."
"Poor Miss Dorothy! So I should think!" Pirnie sat silent a minute, her eyes looking straight before her. The inspector watched her keenly between his mouthfuls of buttered muffin.
"Mr. Furnival, this can't have had anything to do with my lady's death—Miss Maureen can't know anything! It is an impossibility!"
The inspector finished his muffin and took a long draught of tea before answering. Then his cup was pushed away from him.
"Miss Pirnie, I may trust you with what wouldn't tell another person living. I'll be hanged if can make out whether she does or she doesn't. There has always to my mind been something queer about the child. But I can't see how she could have been connected with the murder and that is a fact! Still, it seems to me that someone must have had a motive for getting her away. What do you think of this Alice Gray that she was so friendly with?"
Pirnie tossed her head. "I never was one to take up with the under servants. Alice knew her work and her place, and did the one and kept the other. That was all I knew about her. When she was set to wait on Miss Maureen because the child could not go to school and took a fancy to her, I thought it was a good thing. For Miss Maureen was a handful! But there, Alice could not have run away with her!"
"Of course she couldn't," the inspector assented. But his tone was neither convincing nor convinced.
"Anyhow, Alice Gray gave the police her home address, somewhere out past New Barnet. She said she was going there at once, and in fact was seen off on her way by the