Murders in, Volume 2 by Elizabeth Daly

nonsense.”
    â€œWell, my dear, I know your healthy skepticism of old; but yours is a narrow way, after all. Straight, but narrow. Lydia’s mind is more receptive to wonders. Don’t you think Mr. Gamadge’s information about metal hexagons very odd, Lydia?”
    Miss Smith replied in a colorless tone that it was very odd. Her eyes, as they rested on Gamadge, seemed to say that he was very odd, too; but her face remained serene.
    â€œAnd we must make an appointment when you come tomorrow, an appointment for you to give a day to my books. I shall be glad of your professional services,” said Mr. Vauregard, delicately, as he and Gamadge shook hands. Gamadge then took Miss Smith’s slender fingers in his, and their eyes met; Gamadge’s as blank of expression as her own.
    He followed Miss Vauregard down the wide stairs to the lower floor. They went along the hall, through an arched door, and into a narrower passage that led by way of an open doorway straight into the garden. Pausing with her hand on a knob to the left, she faced him, angrily.
    â€œUncle is in his dotage.”
    â€œOr very near it. He is amenable to any suggestion, if it approaches the occult, I should say.”
    â€œHexagons! You made that up!”
    â€œWell, I had to invent some excuse for coming back as soon as possible. Miss Smith must be scared away, somehow.”
    â€œIf you didn’t scare her this afternoon, she can’t be scared at all. That poetry! I felt as if the ice were breaking under me.”
    â€œWouldn’t you have been thankful for a cold dip? I should. The atmosphere up there is morally stifling. Your uncle and Miss Smith are museum pieces.”
    â€œHave you really that book—about numbers?”
    â€œI have a book about numbers. I didn’t promise that it dealt with the danger inherent in hexagons.”
    Miss Vauregard, looking grim, opened the door on the left and they entered a pantry. Its window was set high in the east wall. They passed through it into a big kitchen, all white-painted brick and plaster. Its east windows were also high, with an open door between them which gave on the carriageway. Two south windows afforded a view of a narrow yard or drying ground, enclosed by a lattice; between them rose the ancient coal range.
    A stout, rosy-faced old woman in a gray dress and a large white apron turned to greet them:
    â€œI am glad to see you, Miss; that I am.”
    â€œDear Eliza, we have kept you from your nap.”
    â€œI need a talk with you more than any nap.” Eliza glanced at Gamadge, and Miss Vauregard introduced him:
    â€œThis is a friend of mine—Mr. Gamadge. I’m showing him the place.”
    Eliza bobbed at Gamadge, obviously wondering how to get rid of him. She said: “I wanted a word with you about the Master, Miss. John and me are worried about him.”
    â€œSo am I, and so is Mr. Gamadge. We can talk in front of Mr. Gamadge, Eliza.”
    â€œOh, very well, Miss, if you say so, I’m sure. Shall we go into the ’all, Miss? And Sir?”
    Since Eliza crossed the passage and opened a door on the opposite side of it, and since this door led into a large comfortably furnished sitting room with a dining table in the middle of it, Gamadge realized that she had referred to the servants’ hall, and that her beginnings had had a lofty and impressive background.
    â€œDo sit down, Eliza,” said Miss Vauregard. They all sat down, and Eliza plunged into her subject:
    â€œMiss, I know you will understand. If that young lady stays, we must get in a maid. You know how kind and considerate the Master is—all laundry goes out, and all cleaning comes in. I have a kitchenmaid nine months of the year, and would have one now, but we were going on our vacations next week, and the Master was leaving town as usual. Now he says it depends on the young lady’s ’ealth, and we are making out as best we