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water—that is exactly what we are in, Constance.”
    “Let’s enjoy this lovely dinner before we start to worry,” I suggested. “It would be a pity to waste it.”
    “Waste it? Fat chance of that with all of Aiglon’s servants stuffing their faces belowstairs! I hope he means to share the expenses while he is here. Eight horses! Have you any idea how much one horse eats?”
    “A great deal, I’m sure, but it is only hay and oats after all,” I pointed out, trying to cheer her.
    “We must get rid of him, Constance, at once! Now, I have been thinking...”
    “I was sure you would be,” I replied innocently.
    “You shall see a Bow Street Runner in Folkestone tomorrow morning. He will be inquiring for Lord Aiglon. You will make a quick dash home, and that will be the end of him. He’ll leave.”
    This settled, she helped herself to a plate of turbot, for the servants were all belowstairs in hands with Aiglon’s bathwater, and began to eat.
    “That man has eyes like a hawk,” she lamented as she reached for the peas. “How did he see the grease spots on the carpet? It was dark as pitch, and the bit at the bottom of the stairs was clean. And the crystal pendants! How did he notice where they came from? Those quick eyes of his see too much. We must be rid of him.”
    Rachel has a way of accomplishing what she wants to accomplish, and I had a strong feeling that she’d get Aiglon rooted out of his own house within a day or two, but till he left life would be interesting. The first item of interest was her order to Willard to wake the rooster half an hour before usual and remove it to a spot beneath Aiglon’s window. Willard was further commanded to prod it with a stick for maximum crowing. Willard agreed without so much as a question. Before she took fork to fowl, she had also told Willard to order several hundred pounds of hay and present the bill to Aiglon before he left. And, if all else failed, she meant to inundate the house with guests, since he obviously wished to be left alone.
    “We shall see who is in charge here,” she announced after Willard left.
    I found it strange that she didn’t once refer to the trifling matter of Aiglon’s having killed a man. Any pleasure I had been anticipating in a flirtation with him dissipated when I learned that.
    “I wonder who it is that he killed,” I said during one of Rachel’s respites from talking.
    “Someone like him that the world is well rid of,” she told me firmly.
    After dinner she removed her earrings and hung them back on the lamp. We were just at the doorway doing this when the knocker sounded. As Willard was belowstairs, I answered the door. Expecting to see a Bow Street Runner, Rachel wore a hopeful face, but it was only Mickey Dougherty. He came to call occasionally but seldom in the evening unless there was good reason, such as the delivery of a bottle of brandy from Madame Bieler. Rachel’s purchases were rare, however, and she had just made one, so I was curious to learn why he had come.
    “Why, good evening, Mickey. Come in,” I said, and looked over my shoulder to tell Rachel who had arrived. I was astonished at the angry, almost frightened expression she wore.
    “Good evening to you, ladies,” Mickey said, making a bow. “I’ve just left my mount in the stable, and I see by the quantity of horseflesh there that you’ve got company. Lord Aiglon, is it?” he asked, darting a bold smile to Rachel.
    “It is my cousin Mr. Lance Howell who is visiting,” she replied stiffly. “Did you want anything in particular, Mickey, or is this a social call?” she asked. She didn’t invite him into the saloon. We were usually grateful to anyone who went to the inconvenience of paying us a visit and ordinarily treated them civilly.
    “I’m only here for the pleasure of seeing you. Is Aiglon traveling incognito?” Mickey asked, apparently quite aware of his lordship’s family name. “That’s surely odd. What could be the reason for