Wiles of a Stranger by Joan Smith

putting up at the Shipwalk with Mr. Thorpe, awaiting our decision about selling,” Beaudel replied.
    “Why didn’t you ask him to stay here?” Lucien demanded at once.
    A quick little look of animosity passed between Beaudel and his wife. It was unknown whether the husband suspected what had been going on, or the two had come to cuffs over some other aspect of the major’s visit. A definite chill was in the air in any case.
    “We are not running a hotel,” Beaudel answered sharply. “He has Thorpe with him now. We cannot put up every person who comes to town.”
    “Is he coming back?” Lucien asked.
    “Certainly he will be back. The matter of the sale is not finalized.”
    “Let us have a hand of cards,” Mrs. Beaudel suggested. She directed her remark to Lucien, but I was included. We played for half an hour, during which time it was plain the lady was in a pucker. She was in such ill-humor she robbed the game of any fun for Lucien. I took him upstairs early that evening, as the company below was so inhospitable.
    “I don’t have to go to bed yet,” he pointed out, as we escaped.
    “I’ll read you a story first, or we can talk, if you prefer.”
    “Miss Little used to talk to me all the time. More than you do,” he charged.
    “What did she talk about?”
    “Everything. Whether I was happy, and all sorts of things. I was very happy after she came.”
    “Were you not happy before?”
    “At first I was happy with Uncle Charles. After he got married to Aunt Stella, the servants became angry. But Aunt Stella got rid of them and hired nicer ones. Then just when we got happy, Uncle Charles became sad, and sometimes mad. I think he is angry with Aunt Stella tonight, don’t you?”
    “A little peeved, yes.”
    “He doesn’t want her to have any fun. She told me so, and that’s why they fight. She fights with Wiggins too. I used to see them go into the writing room and close the door. Sometimes they’d fight, but Aunt Stella doesn’t mind fighting with him, because she likes him, you see.”
    “What does she fight about with Wiggins?” I pressed on, taking advantage of his talkative mood.
    “It was something to do with her moving to Uncle Charles’s home, after Algernon comes back here. They will he leaving then, because of Algernon fighting with Aunt Stella. Maybe Wiggins doesn’t want to go away with her. I don’t know. I couldn’t hear very well.”
    This was interesting, but not terribly informative. I already knew she did not treat him like a butler. Soon Lucien changed the topic to some gift Morrison was going to buy him. When at last it was time to tuck him into bed, he apologized for his morning’s burst of anger with me. It was just that he and the major had planned a man-to-man sort of a morning, and my coming along spoiled it. I apologized for being such a spoilsport, and was forgiven with the magnanimous rejoinder that I was not really a marplot, only a peagoose.
    I was coming to feel rather like one. I had been here for three days, and had nothing for my troubles but suspicions, and suspicions besides that had no immediate bearing on my father’s position. Mrs. Beaudel’s various dalliances and fighting with everyone were despicable, but unless they led to stealing the diamonds, it was none of my concern.
    Time was pushing at my back. I was on thorns to be doing something positive to free Papa. When I heard Beaudel ascend the stairs to bed, I listened closely for an accompanying, lighter tread. Hearing none, I assumed his wife had remained to bicker or flirt with Wiggins. Or possibly to plan with him further depradations on Lucien’s diamonds, of course.
    I had to go down and spy. Putting it off was getting me nowhere. If caught, explaining my presence below a second time late at night would be difficult. I wondered then whether I might not slip around outdoors and peek through the windows. There was a walk-out platform with a guardrail at the end of the corridor. The servants