She laughed and turned the subject.  “Hadn’t you better start?  It’s getting late.”

“P’raps I had.  Good-bye, then!” He bent unexpectedly and kissed her cheek.  “We’ll go for a picnic to-morrow,” he said, “to celebrate Aunt Phil’s departure.  Keep your pecker up!  She’ll soon be gone.”

He marched away, whistling, and Chris was alone.

She rose and finished her dressing with feverish haste.  Now was her time.

Noel had said Bertrand was in his room.  She must see him alone.  But how should she let him know?  If she went in search of him she might encounter Aunt Philippa and be detained.  She went down to her husband’s room, and rang the bell there.

Holmes answered it in some surprise, knowing his master to be out; but she gave him no time for speculation.

“Holmes,” she said, “I believe Mr. Bertrand is somewhere in the house.  I wish you would find him, and say I am waiting to speak to him on a matter of importance.  I am going into the garden.  He will find me under the yew-tree.”

Holmes departed with his customary dispatch.  There was something indefinable about his young mistress that made him wish his master were at hand.  He made his way to Bertrand’s room and knocked.

There was no immediate reply; then, “I am busy,” said Bertrand from within.

“If you please, sir!” said Holmes.

There was a movement in the room at once, and the door opened.  “Ah!  It is the good Holmes!” said Bertrand.  “I thought that it was Monsieur Noel.  What is it, then?  You bring me a message?”

He looked at the man with sleepless eyes that shone curiously bright.  In the room behind him a portmanteau, half-filled, lay upon the floor.

For a single instant Holmes hesitated before delivering his message.  Then he gave it punctiliously, word for word.

“I am obliged to you,” said Bertrand courteously.  “I shall go to Mrs. Mordaunt at once.”

He crossed the threshold therewith, but paused a moment outside the room.

“Holmes,” he said, “I go to London by the 11.50.  Will you arrange for my luggage to be taken to the station?”

Holmes’s well-ordered countenance expressed no surprise.  “Very good, sir.  And you yourself, sir?” he said.

“I shall walk,” said Bertrand.

“You would like me to finish packing for you, sir?” suggested Holmes.

“Ah!  That would be very good.”  Bertrand’s voice expressed relief.  He stepped back into the room to slip a sovereign into the man’s hand.

But Holmes drew back.  “Thank you, sir.  I’d rather not, sir.”

Bertrand’s brows went up.  “How?  But we are friends, no?” he questioned.

“I don’t know, sir,” said Holmes, respectful but firm.  “Anyhow, I’d rather not, sir.”

“Eh bien!” The Frenchman shrugged his shoulders and turned. “Adieu, Holmes!” he said.

“Good-day, sir!” said Holmes.