“Nobody’s bedroom for the moment. But I would like to know where you got your French governess from.” “The man’s bewitched,” said Bundle. “I got her from an Agency, and I pay her a hundred pounds a year, and her Christian name is Genevieve. Anything more you want to know?” “We’ll assume the Agency,” said Anthony. “What about her references?” “Oh, glowing! She’d lived for ten years with the Countess of What Not.” “What Not being——?” “The Comtesses de Breteuil, Chateau de Breteuil, Dinard.” “You didn’t actually see the Comtesse yourself? It was all done by letter?” “Exactly.” “H’m!” said Anthony. “You intrigue me,” said Bundle. “You intrigue me enormously. Is it love or crime?” “Probably sheer idiocy on my part. Let’s forget it.” “‘Let’s forget it,’ said he negligently, having extracted all the information he wants. Mr. Cade, who do you suspect? I rather suspect Virginia as being the most unlikely person. Or possibly Bill.” “What about you?” “Member of the aristocracy joins in secret the Comrades of the Red Hand. It would create a sensation all right.” Anthony laughed. He liked Bundle, though he was a little afraid of the shrewd penetration of her sharp grey eyes. “You must be proud of all this,” he said suddenly, waving his hand towards the great house in the distance. Bundle screwed up her eyes and tilted her head on one side. “Yes—it means something, I suppose. But one’s too used to it. Anyway, we’re not here very much—too deadly dull. We’ve been at Cowes and Deauville all the summer after town, and then up to Scotland. Chimneys has been swathed in dust sheets for about five months. Once a week they take the dust sheets off and chars-à-bancs full of tourists come and gape, and listen to Tredwell. ‘On your right is the portrait of the fourth Marchioness of Caterham, painted by Sir Joshua Reynolds,’ etc., and Ed or Bert, the humorist of the party, nudges his girl and says ‘Eh! Gladys, they’ve got two pennyworth of pictures here, right enough.’ And then they go and look at more pictures and yawn and shuffle their feet and wish it was time to go home.” “Yet history has been made here once or twice, by all accounts.” “You’ve been listening to George,” said Bundle sharply. “That’s the kind of thing he’s always saying.” But Anthony had raised himself on his elbow, and was staring at the shore. “Is that a third suspicious stranger I see standing disconsolately by the boat-house? Or is it one of the house party?” Bundle lifted her head from the scarlet cushion. “It’s Bill,” she said. “He seems to be looking for something.” “He’s probably looking for me,” said Bundle, without enthusiasm. “Shall we row quickly in the opposite direction?” “That’s quite the right answer, but it should be delivered with more enthusiasm.” “I shall row with double vigour after that rebuke.”