“Moss,” he said. “Everything going along all right? That’s it! That’s it! You let me know if there’s anything wrong.” Ross was hard put to it to suppress a smile. He imagined how it would be if he should say: “Well, sir, there was one little thing—a dead man under the housekeeper’s sofa. But, perhaps I shouldn’t mention it.” He looked for a moment into the bluff, scowling, kindly face of the man Eddy had called “a prince.” “Thank you, sir,” he said, and turned away, down the hall toward the back stairs. And, as he came round the corner into the corridor, where the housekeeper’s room was, his quick ear caught some words of such remarkable personal interest to him that he stood still. “Another James Ross!” Mrs. Jones was saying. “That’s a likely story, I must say! Amy, that man’s a fraud and a spy!” “No, Nanna darling, he’s not!” answered Amy, with sweet obstinacy. “I tell you he is, child. He’s got to go.” “No, dear,” said Amy. “He’s going to help me.” “Amy!” cried Mrs. Jones. “Can’t you trust me? I tell you it’s all right. He won’t come tonight. I promise you he won’t!” “Oh, you mean well!” Amy remarked. “But you’ve made plenty of mistakes before this.” “Amy, I promise you—” “No,” said Amy. “You told me before that I needn’t worry, that you’d ‘settled everything.’ And what happened? No; I’m afraid you’re getting old, Nanna—old and stupid. I’m going to manage for myself now. And Jimmy’s going to help me.” “Child!” Mrs. Jones protested. “That man will ferret out—” “I don’t care if he does,” said Amy. “He won’t tell, anyhow. Now don’t bother me any more, Nanna. I’ve simply got to go.” Ross stepped quickly backward along the hall for a few yards; then he went forward again, with a somewhat heavier tread. And just round the corner of the corridor, he came face to face with Amy. Her beauty almost took his breath away. She wore a dress of white and silver, and round her slender throat a short string of pearls. And against all this gleaming white the pallor of her skin was rich and warm, with a tint
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