‘You mean Mrs. Tudor?’

‘Yes.’

‘She’s disappeared again, has she?  And you couldn’t find her?’

Albert concurred.

‘It seems to me, Alb,’ said Simon, ’that you aren’t shining very brilliantly just now as a detective.  And I’m rather surprised, because I’ve been doing a bit of detective work myself, and it’s nothing but just using your eyes.’

‘What have you been up to?’ Albert inquired.

’Oh, nothing.  Never you mind.  It’s purely unofficial.  You see, I’m not a detective.  I’m only a servant that gets left at home.  I’ve only been amusing myself.  Still, I’ve found out a thing or two that you’d give your eyes to know, my son.’

‘What?’

Albert pursued his quest of knowledge.

‘You get along home to your little wife,’ Simon enjoined him.  ’You’re a professional detective, you are.  No doubt when you’ve recovered from Paris, and got into your stride, you’ll find out all that I know and a bit over in about two seconds.  Off you go!’

Simon’s eyes glinted.

And later, when he was giving Hugo the last ministrations for the night, Simon looked at his lord as a cat looks at the mouse it is playing with—­humorously, viciously, sarcastically.

‘I’ll give him a night to lie awake in,’ said Simon’s eyes.

But he only allowed his eyes to make this speech while Hugo’s back was turned.

The next morning Hugo’s mood was desolating.  To speak to him was to play with fire.  Obviously, Hugo had heard the clock strike all the hours.  Nevertheless, Simon permitted himself to be blithe, even offensively blithe.  And when Hugo had finished with him he ventured to linger.

‘You needn’t wait,’ said Hugo, in a voice of sulphuric acid.

‘So you didn’t find Mrs. Francis Tudor, sir?’ responded Simon, with calm and beautiful insolence.

It was insolence because, though few of Hugo’s secrets were hid from Simon, the intercourse between master and servant was conducted on the basis of a convention that Simon’s ignorance of Hugo’s affairs was complete.  And if the convention was ignored, as it sometimes was, Hugo alone had the right to begin the ignoring of it.

‘What’s that you said?’ Hugo demanded.

‘You didn’t find Mrs. Francis Tudor, sir?’ Simon blandly repeated.

‘Mind your own business, my friend,’ he said.

‘Certainly, sir,’ said Simon.  ’But I had intended to add that possibly you had not been searching for Mrs. Tudor in the right city.’

Hugo stared at Simon, who retreated to the door.

‘What in thunder do you mean?’ Hugo asked coldly and deliberately.

At last Simon felt a tremor.

’I mean, sir, that I think I know where she is.  At least, I know where she will be in a couple of hours’ time.’

‘Where?’

‘In Department 42—­her old department, sir.’

By a terrific effort Hugo kept calm.