Her waiting in the room above had seemed long to her.  Her ears had been expecting the sound of Beaumaroy’s tread as he mounted the stairs, laden with his burden.  That sound had not come; instead, there had been the soft, just audible, plop of the Sergeant’s body as it dropped on the floor of the passage.  It occurred to her that Beaumaroy had perhaps had some mishap with his burden, or found difficulty with it.  She was coming downstairs to offer her help.  Seeing what she saw now, she stood still in surprise.

Beaumaroy looked up at her and smiled.  “No cause for alarm,” he said, “but I’ve got to go out for a minute.  Keep an eye on this rascal, will you?  Oh, and, Doctor Mary, if he tries to move or untie himself, just take the parlor poker and hit him over the head!  Thanks.  You don’t mind, de you?  And you, Sergeant, remember what I said!”

With these words Beaumaroy slipped out of the door, and softly closed it behind him.

CHAPTER XV

A NORMAL CASE

When Captain Alec brought his fiancée home after the dinner of welcome and congratulation at Old Place, it was nearly twelve o’clock.  Jeanne, however—­in these days a radiant Jeanne, very different from the mournful creature who had accompanied Captain Cranster’s victim to Inkston a few weeks before—­was sitting up for her mistress and, since she had to perform this duty—­which was sweetened by the hope of receiving exciting confidences, for surely that affair was “marching?”—­it had been agreed between her and the other maids that she should sit up for the Doctor also.  She told the lovers that Doctor Mary had been called for by Mr. Beaumaroy, and had gone out with him, presumably to visit his friend Mr. Saffron.  It did not occur to either of them to ask when Mary had set out; they contented themselves with exchanging a glance of disapproval.  What a pity that Mary should have anything more to do with this Mr. Saffron and his Beaumaroy!

However there was a bright side to it this time.  It would be kind of Cynthia to sit up for Mary, and minister to her a cup of tea which Jeanne should prepare; and it would be pleasant—­and quite permissible—­for Captain Alec to bear her company.  Mary could not be long, surely; it grew late.

So for a while they thought no more of Mary—­as was natural enough.  They had so much to talk about, the whole of a new and very wonderful life to speculate about and to plan, the whole of their past acquaintance to review; old doubts had to be confessed and laughed at; the inevitability of the whole thing from the first beginnings had to be recognized, proved, and exhibited.  In this sweet discourse the minutes flew by unmarked, and would have gone on flying, had not Jeanne reappeared of her own accord, to remark that it really was very late now; did mademoiselle think that possibly anything could have happened to Doctor Arkroyd?