I was perfectly safe
from her ladyship. The disused door into her room was locked, and the key
safe on the housekeeper's bunch. It was also undiscoverable on her side,
the recess in which it stood being completely filled by a large wardrobe.
On my side hung a thick sound-proof _portiere_. Nevertheless, I resolved
not to use that room while she inhabited the next one. I removed my
possessions, fastened the door of communication with my bedroom, and
dragged a heavy ottoman across it.
Then I stowed away my emerald in my strong-box. It is built into the wall
of my sitting-room, and masked by the lower part of an old carved oak
bureau. I put away even the rings I wore habitually, keeping out only an
inferior cat's-eye for workaday wear. I had just made all safe when Leta
tapped at the door and came in to wish me good night. She looked flushed
and harassed and ready to cry. "Uncle Paul," she began, "I want you to go
up to town at once, and stay away till I send for you."
"My dear--!" I was too amazed to expostulate.
"We've got a--a pestilence among us," she declared, her foot tapping the
ground angrily, "and the least we can do is to go into quarantine. Oh, I'm
so sorry and so ashamed! The poor bishop! I'll take good care that no one
else shall meet that woman here. You did your best for me, Uncle Paul, and
managed admirably, but it was all no use.
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