The Lady Sleuths MEGAPACK TM(240)

                             “I think not. A sudden coolness arose between them, and the young fellow went away without so much as shaking hands with me.”

                “I fear an irreparable breach has occurred between the Cleeves and yourself on account of dear René’s extraordinary treatment of Gordon,” said Mrs. Greenhow sweetly.

                “There was no extraordinary treatment,” said Mr. Golding, now almost in anger. “My daughter and Mr. Cleeve were good friends—nothing more, I assure you—until one day René saw him cruelly thrashing one of his setters, and after that she cut him dead—would have nothing whatever to do with him.”

                “Maddalena told Inspector Ramsay,” said Mrs. Greenhow, sweetly still, “that on the evening before Gordon Cleeve left Langford dear René received a note from him—”

                “Which she tossed unopened into the fire,” finished Mr. Golding.

                “Who is Maddalena?” interrupted Loveday.

                “My daughter’s maid. I brought her over from Naples twelve years ago as nurse, and as René grew older she naturally enough fell into her duties as René’s maid. She is a dear, faithful creature; her aunt was nurse to René’s mother.”

                “Is it possible for Maddalena to be told off to wait upon me while I am in the house?” asked Loveday, turning to Mrs. Greenhow.

                “Certainly, if you wish it. At the same time, I warn you that she is not in a particularly amiable frame of mind just now, and will be very likely to be sullen and disobliging,” answered the lady.

                “Maddalena is not generally either one or the other,” said Mr. Golding deprecatingly; “but just now she is a little unlike herself. The truth is, all the servants have been a little too rigorously cross-examined by the police on matters of which they could have absolutely no knowledge, and Ramsay made such a dead set at Lena that the girl felt herself insulted, grew sullen, and refused to open her lips.”



                             “She must be handled judiciously. I suppose she was broken-hearted when Miss Golding did not return from her morning’s walk?”

                A reply was prevented by the entrance of a servant with a telegram in his hand.

                Mr. Golding tore it open, and, in a trembling voice, read aloud as follows:

                “Some one answering to the description of your daughter was seen yesterday in the Champs Elysées, but disappeared before she could be detained. Watch arrivals at Folkestone and Dover.”

                The telegram was dated from Paris, and was from M. Dulau, of the Paris police. Mr. Golding’s agitation was pitiable.

                “Great heavens! is it possible?” he cried, putting his hand to his forehead as if stunned. “I’ll start for Dover—no, Paris, I think, at once.” He staggered to his feet, looking around him in a dazed and bewildered fashion. He might as well have talked of starting for the moon or the north star.

                “Pardon me,” said Loveday, “Inspector Ramsay is the right person to deal with that telegram. It should be sent to him at once.”

                Mr. Golding sank back in his chair, trembling from head to foot.

                “I think you are right,” he said faintly. “I might break down and lose a possible chance.”

                Then he turned once more to the man, who stood waiting for orders, and desired him to take the fastest horse to the stables and ride at once with the telegram to the Inspector.