and pushed the saucer away with its empty cup. "If she has, this is the first I have heard."
"Her parents are not living, dear. If they hold an Enquiry they'll call it cross-examination."
"Oh, it does so aggravate one, Baker. Because she holds the answer to Mary's whereabouts."
"Wherever the poor child may be, with her parents away in Brazil, she can stay for a while yet," Miss Baker said, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief, rather in the same way that Mr Dakers had patted his mouth at breakfast.
"Why, what on earth do you mean?" Miss Edge protested. "You are surely not going to suggest. . . ?"
"I suggest nothing, dear," Baker insisted in a tired voice. "All I say is that Mary can't have got very far, unless of course she has a conveyance. We left instructions about the station and the coaches, and now you have a policeman to see you. No, we must remember the poor mite was sick."
"I know nothing of it," Edge objected. "Her name is not down on Matron's list."
"But don't you recollect, dear? It was you who asked what had happened to Mary at breakfast, and Marion told you she'd gone to Matron!'
"So she did," Miss Edge exclaimed. "That puts an entirely different complexion on the matter. In fact, when I come to consider, I cannot understand how Marchbanks has not been able to drag the wretched girl back to us already. So unnecessary, too, to send for the Inspector. Because he will need some good reason to explain our bringing him up here. The staff simply will not take in what I keep drumming into them about undesirable publicity."
"We haven't found her yet, dear."
But Edge had now gone to the opposite extreme, was overconfident. "Why," she said, and left her desk to go over to the window, "the whole affair is a mare's nest, something tells me." Miss Baker had also risen. She moved over to the telephone.
"And such a shame," Miss Edge continued, holding on to folded curtains at either side with both hands, to face a bright prospect as though crucified. "What a very real shame to torture our nerves in this glorious weather just when the old Place is at its own great best."
"Madam here," Baker said into the receiver. "Would you have Marion sent along at once."
The child must have been expecting it, for, in next to no time, there was her knock on the door.
"Marion," Miss Edge asked, as though Baker had telephoned on her instructions. "When did Mary go to Matron?"
"I couldn't say, ma'am."
"But you told us at breakfast, surely you recollect."
"Yes ma'am."
"When did you see her last then, child?"
"I didn't see her, ma'am."
"You didn't see her?" Edge echoed, an ugly note in her voice. "Oh but, excuse me, you must have. You told us." Marion stood in silence. She looked guilty. "You mean you connived at this disappearance, Marion? Just when my sixth sense had led me to ask you where she was. You say now she never went to Matron?"
"They told me she had, ma'am."
"And who was that, pray?"
"The other girls, ma'am."
"Then you never even saw her this morning?" Miss Baker asked, white about the lips once she found her fears confirmed.
"No ma'am." There was a silence. Edge came away from the window, went right up to the child.
"You can go now, Marion," she said. "But we shall have to see you later about the whole wretched business, once we have got right to the bottom of it. I fear you may not have been quite straight with us, child."
"But I ..." the girl began, raising limpid, spaniel's eyes to Miss Edge, and that were filling with easy tears, when the lady broke in on her.
"Yes, you can go, Marion," she repeated. "Perhaps you did not quite catch what I said?"
A call to Matron told them she had not seen Mary since last night.
"If you would manage the Inspector I'll just have a word with Matron, I think," Baker informed Edge.
"I shall get rid of the man," this lady agreed, with decision.
When the sergeant came he mopped his brow.
"Such lovely weather we have had, and it continues," Edge said, as she took him by
"Her parents are not living, dear. If they hold an Enquiry they'll call it cross-examination."
"Oh, it does so aggravate one, Baker. Because she holds the answer to Mary's whereabouts."
"Wherever the poor child may be, with her parents away in Brazil, she can stay for a while yet," Miss Baker said, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief, rather in the same way that Mr Dakers had patted his mouth at breakfast.
"Why, what on earth do you mean?" Miss Edge protested. "You are surely not going to suggest. . . ?"
"I suggest nothing, dear," Baker insisted in a tired voice. "All I say is that Mary can't have got very far, unless of course she has a conveyance. We left instructions about the station and the coaches, and now you have a policeman to see you. No, we must remember the poor mite was sick."
"I know nothing of it," Edge objected. "Her name is not down on Matron's list."
"But don't you recollect, dear? It was you who asked what had happened to Mary at breakfast, and Marion told you she'd gone to Matron!'
"So she did," Miss Edge exclaimed. "That puts an entirely different complexion on the matter. In fact, when I come to consider, I cannot understand how Marchbanks has not been able to drag the wretched girl back to us already. So unnecessary, too, to send for the Inspector. Because he will need some good reason to explain our bringing him up here. The staff simply will not take in what I keep drumming into them about undesirable publicity."
"We haven't found her yet, dear."
But Edge had now gone to the opposite extreme, was overconfident. "Why," she said, and left her desk to go over to the window, "the whole affair is a mare's nest, something tells me." Miss Baker had also risen. She moved over to the telephone.
"And such a shame," Miss Edge continued, holding on to folded curtains at either side with both hands, to face a bright prospect as though crucified. "What a very real shame to torture our nerves in this glorious weather just when the old Place is at its own great best."
"Madam here," Baker said into the receiver. "Would you have Marion sent along at once."
The child must have been expecting it, for, in next to no time, there was her knock on the door.
"Marion," Miss Edge asked, as though Baker had telephoned on her instructions. "When did Mary go to Matron?"
"I couldn't say, ma'am."
"But you told us at breakfast, surely you recollect."
"Yes ma'am."
"When did you see her last then, child?"
"I didn't see her, ma'am."
"You didn't see her?" Edge echoed, an ugly note in her voice. "Oh but, excuse me, you must have. You told us." Marion stood in silence. She looked guilty. "You mean you connived at this disappearance, Marion? Just when my sixth sense had led me to ask you where she was. You say now she never went to Matron?"
"They told me she had, ma'am."
"And who was that, pray?"
"The other girls, ma'am."
"Then you never even saw her this morning?" Miss Baker asked, white about the lips once she found her fears confirmed.
"No ma'am." There was a silence. Edge came away from the window, went right up to the child.
"You can go now, Marion," she said. "But we shall have to see you later about the whole wretched business, once we have got right to the bottom of it. I fear you may not have been quite straight with us, child."
"But I ..." the girl began, raising limpid, spaniel's eyes to Miss Edge, and that were filling with easy tears, when the lady broke in on her.
"Yes, you can go, Marion," she repeated. "Perhaps you did not quite catch what I said?"
A call to Matron told them she had not seen Mary since last night.
"If you would manage the Inspector I'll just have a word with Matron, I think," Baker informed Edge.
"I shall get rid of the man," this lady agreed, with decision.
When the sergeant came he mopped his brow.
"Such lovely weather we have had, and it continues," Edge said, as she took him by
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