Lucia spent a strenuous afternoon with correspondence and telephonings, and dropped into Mrs. Sandeman’s for a cup of tea, of which she stood sorely in need. She found there was no need to tell dearest Aggie about the party last night at Olga’s, for the _Evening Gazette_ had come in, and there was an account of it, described in Hermione’s matchless style. Hermione had found the bijou residence of the prima-donna in Brompton Square full of friends--_très intimes_--who had been invited to celebrate the huge success of “Lucrezia” and to congratulate Mrs. Shuttleworth. There was Princess Isabel, wearing her wonderful turquoises, chatting with the composer, Signor Cortese (Princess Isabel spoke Italian perfectly), and among other friends Hermione had noticed the Duchess of Whitby, Lord Limpsfield, Mrs. Garroby-Ashton, and Mrs. Philip Lucas. CHAPTER V The mystery of that Friday evening in the last week in June became portentous on the ensuing Saturday morning.... A cab had certainly driven from the station to The Hurst late on Friday evening, but owing to the darkness it was not known who got out of it. Previously the windows of The Hurst had been very diligently cleaned all Friday afternoon. Of course the latter might be accounted for by the mere fact that they needed cleaning, but if it had been Pepino or Lucia herself who had arrived by the cab (if both of them, they would almost certainly have come by their motor), surely some sign of their presence would have manifested itself either to Riseholme’s collective eye, or to Riseholme’s ear. But the piano, Daisy felt certain, had not been heard, nor had the telephone tinkled for anybody. Also, when she looked out about half-past ten in the evening, and again when she went upstairs to bed, there were no lights in the house. But somebody had come, and as the servants’ rooms looked out on to the back, it was probably a servant or servants. Daisy had felt so terribly interested in this that she came restlessly down, and had a quarter of an hour’s weedjing to see if Abfou could tell her. She had been quite unable to form any satisfactory conjecture herself, and Abfou, after writing “Museum” once or twice, had relapsed into rapid and unintelligible Arabic. She did not ring up Georgie to ask help in solving this conundrum, because she hoped to solve it unaided and be able to tell him the answer.