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Van Raffles, as certainly as we stand here. Suppose, just to worry him, we never let on that anything out of the ordinary has happened, eh?" "Splendid!" said Henriette, with enthusiasm. "Let's act as if all turned out just as we expected, and, best of all, never even mention it to him, or to Bunderby his confederate, neither of us, eh?" "Never!" said Mrs.
Shadd, and was very sorry indeed to hear that her son had been injured in an automobile accident while running into Boston from Bar Harbor. It closed with the line, "you must know, my dear Pauline, that there isn't anything I wouldn't do for you, come weal or come woe." This I handed to Bunderby and he made off. On my return Henriette was dressed for travel.
An hour later Bunderby appeared at the back door and handed me a note addressed to my mistress, which I immediately delivered. "Is Bunderby waiting?" asked Henriette as she read the note. "Yes," I answered. "Tell him to hand this to Mrs.
"In reply to your note of Wednesday evening," said Henriette. "Certainly you wrote to me Wednesday evening? It was delivered by your own man, Blunderby I think his name is? About half-past seven o'clock it was Wednesday." "Yes, Bunderby did carry a note to you from me on Wednesday," said Mrs. Shadd. "But "
Shadd this evening and leave it mind you, don't wait for an answer but just leave it, that's all." She arose from the table and handed me a daintily scented missive addressed to Mrs. Shadd, and I faithfully executed her errand. Bunderby, the Shadd's butler, endeavored to persuade me to wait for an answer, but assuring him that I wasn't aware that an answer was expected I returned to Bolivar Lodge.
Everybody was there and no one would for a moment have thought that there was anything strange in the transfer of the scene from Onyx House to Bolivar Lodge. "Who wrote that letter, Henriette?" I asked late in the evening when the last guest had gone. "Who do you suppose, Bunny, my boy?" she asked with a grin. "Bunderby?" "No," said I. "You've guessed right," said Henriette.
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