A Damsel in Distress

"You think that Lady Maud gave Albert a letter to give to me, and

that he destroyed it?"

"Such, I should imagine, must undoubtedly have been the case. The

boy 'as no scruples, no scruples whatsoever."

"Good Lord!"

"I appreciate your consternation, sir."

"That must be exactly what has happened."

"To my way of thinking there is no doubt of it. It was for that

reason that I ventured to come 'ere. In the 'ope that I might be

hinstrumental in arranging a meeting."

The strong distaste which George had had for plotting with this

overfed menial began to wane. It might be undignified, he told

himself but it was undeniably practical. And, after all, a man who

has plotted with page-boys has little dignity to lose by plotting

with butlers. He brightened up. If it meant seeing Maud again he

was prepared to waive the decencies.

"What do you suggest?" he said.

"It being a rainy evening and everyone indoors playing games and

what not,"--Keggs was amiably tolerant of the recreations of the

aristocracy--"you would experience little chance of a hinterruption,

were you to proceed to the lane outside the heast entrance of the

castle grounds and wait there. You will find in the field at the

roadside a small disused barn only a short way from the gates, where

you would be sheltered from the rain. In the meantime, I would

hinform 'er ladyship of your movements, and no doubt it would be

possible for 'er to slip off."

"It sounds all right."

"It is all right, sir. The chances of a hinterruption may be said

to be reduced to a minimum. Shall we say in one hour's time?"

"Very well."

"Then I will wish you good evening, sir. Thank you, sir. I am glad

to 'ave been of assistance."

He withdrew as he had come, with a large impressiveness. The room

seemed very empty without him. George, with trembling fingers,

began to put on a pair of thick boots.

For some minutes after he had set foot outside the door of the

cottage, George was inclined to revile the weather for having

played him false. On this evening of all evenings, he felt, the

elements should, so to speak, have rallied round and done their

bit. The air should have been soft and clear and scented: there

should have been an afterglow of sunset in the sky to light him on

his way. Instead, the air was full of that peculiar smell of

hopeless dampness which comes at the end of a wet English day. The

sky was leaden. The rain hissed down in a steady flow, whispering

of mud and desolation, making a dreary morass of the lane through

which he tramped. A curious sense of foreboding came upon George.

It was as if some voice of the night had murmured maliciously in

his ear a hint of troubles to come. He felt oddly nervous, as he

entered the barn.