Thus far the housekeeper’s conclusions led her, but no further.  She was too shrewd a woman to trust the future to chance and fortune.  Her master’s variable temper might relent.  Accident might at any time give Mr. Bygrave an opportunity of repairing the error that he had committed, and of artfully regaining his lost place in Noel Vanstone’s estimation.  Admitting that circumstances had at last declared themselves unmistakably in her favor, Mrs. Lecount was not the less convinced that nothing would permanently assure her master’s security for the future but the plain exposure of the conspiracy which she had striven to accomplish from the first—­which she was resolved to accomplish still.

“I always enjoy myself at St. Crux,” thought Mrs. Lecount, opening her account-books, and sorting the tradesmen’s bills.  “The admiral is a gentleman, the house is noble, the table is excellent.  No matter!  Here at Sea View I stay by myself till I have seen the inside of Miss Bygrave’s wardrobe.”

She packed her master’s collection of curiosities in their various cases, settled the claims of the trades-people, and superintended the covering of the furniture in the course of the day.  Toward nightfall she went out, bent on investigation, and ventured into the garden at North Shingles under cover of the darkness.  She saw the light in the parlor window, and the lights in the windows of the rooms upstairs, as usual.  After an instant’s hesitation she stole to the house door, and noiselessly tried the handle from the outside.  It turned the lock as she had expected, from her experience of houses at Aldborough and at other watering-places, but the door resisted her; the door was distrustfully bolted on the inside.  After making that discovery, she went round to the back of the house, and ascertained that the door on that side was secured in the same manner.  “Bolt your doors, Mr. Bygrave, as fast as you like,” said the housekeeper, stealing back again to the Parade.  “You can’t bolt the entrance to your servant’s pocket.  The best lock you have may be opened by a golden key.”

She went back to bed.  The ceaseless watching, the unrelaxing excitement of the last two days, had worn her out.

The next morning she rose at seven o’clock.  In half an hour more she saw the punctual Mr. Bygrave—­as she had seen him on many previous mornings at the same time—­issue from the gate of North Shingles, with his towels under his arm, and make his way to a boat that was waiting for him on the beach.  Swimming was one among the many personal accomplishments of which the captain was master.  He was rowed out to sea every morning, and took his bath luxuriously in the deep blue water.  Mrs. Lecount had already computed the time consumed in this recreation by her watch, and had discovered that a full hour usually elapsed from the moment when he embarked on the beach to the moment when he returned.