Kathleen laughed, a girlish bubbling of pure mirth, which was dreadful torment to the jealous masquerader. She departed, leaving the cook a prey to savage resolve. “Well,” thought Eliza, “if the supper is bad enough I guess she'll just _have_ to come down and help me. Thank goodness Blair and Carter are _both_ coming; they'll cut each other's throats, and perhaps the stuffed eggs will win after all. As for that gas-man, he won't get into this house unless it's over my dead body!” XII It was a feverish and excited Eliza that Kathleen found in the kitchen when she tripped downstairs after the soup course. On a large platter the cook had built a kind of untidy thicket of parsley and chopped celery, eked out with lettuce leaves. Ambushed in this were lurking a number of very pallid and bluish-looking eggs, with a nondescript stuffing bulging out of them. “I forgot to measure the yolks, Miss,” wailed Eliza. “That's why the stuffing don't fit. Shall I throw a dash of rum on board to stiffen 'em up?” In spite of her vexation, Kathleen could not help laughing. “No, no,” she said. “We'll tidy up the nest a bit and send them upstairs.” “That's grand,” said Eliza, watching Kathleen's quick fingers. “'Tis a beautiful comely hand you have, miss, one that it's a pleasure to admire.” “Now, Eliza,” said Kathleen, “you must not shout up the dumb waiter so. I distinctly heard you cry out '_This plate's for the parson_!' as you sent up one of the dishes of soup.” “If you please, Miss,” said Eliza. “That was because it was the plate I spilled a spoonful of pepper into, and I thought it had better go to the cloth than anywhere else. Miss Kathleen, I have something very urgent to say to you before them two counterfeiters upstairs commit any affidavits or sworn statements.” “You dish out the eggs, Eliza,” said Kathleen, “and I'll send them up the dumb waiter. Quick, now! And where's your dessert? Is it ready?” “All doing finely, Miss,” answered Eliza, but as she opened the oven door her assurance collapsed. She drew out a cottage pudding, blackened and burnt to carbon. “A great success,” said the bogus cook, but holding it on the other side of her apron so that Kathleen could not see. “Here, I'll just shoot it up the shaft myself before it gets cold.” She hurried into the pantry, whisked it into the dumb waiter before Kathleen could catch a glimpse, and sent it flying aloft. “That smelt a little burnt, cook,” said Kathleen. “Just a wee bit crisp on one side, miss.” Kathleen was in the pantry, with her nose up the dumb-waiter shaft, sniffing the trail of the cottage pudding and wondering whether she ought to recall it for inspection, when Eliza, turning toward the back door, saw the gas-man on the threshold. The cook's mind moved rapidly in this emergency. She knew that if Priapus found himself face to face with Kathleen, dangerous exposures would follow at once.