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Updated: June 19, 2025
As she stood there, balancing her impulses, the esoteric Trimmle returned with the announcement of luncheon, and Mary, thus impelled, opened the door and went into the library.
This question plunged the witness into momentary inarticulateness, from which she was rescued by Trimmle, who, by means of ingenious circumlocutions, elicited the statement that before she could cross the hall to the back passage she had heard the gentlemen behind her, and had seen them go out of the front door together.
This question plunged the witness into momentary inarticulateness, from which she was rescued by Trimmle, who, by means of ingenious circumlocutions, elicited the statement that before she could cross the hall to the back passage she had heard the gentlemen behind her, and had seen them go out of the front door together.
It was a matter of principle with Trimmle never to answer more than one question at a time. "Up the drive? At this hour?" Mary went to the door herself, and glanced across the court through the long tunnel of bare limes. But its perspective was as empty as when she had scanned it on entering the house. "Did Mr. Boyne leave no message?" she asked.
"I couldn't exactly say the hour, Madam, because I didn't let the gentleman in," she replied, with the air of magnanimously ignoring the irregularity of her mistress's course. "You didn't let him in?" "No, Madam. When the bell rang I was dressing, and Agnes " "Go and ask Agnes, then," Mary interjected. Trimmle still wore her look of patient magnanimity.
"But the kitchen-maid SAW him. Send her here," she commanded, wondering at her dullness in not thinking sooner of so simple a solution. Trimmle, at the behest, vanished in a flash, as if thankful to be out of the room, and when she reappeared, conducting the agitated underling, Mary had regained her self-possession, and had her questions pat. The gentleman was a stranger, yes that she understood.
Trimmle seemed to surrender herself to a last struggle with the forces of chaos. "No, Madam. He just went out with the gentleman." "The gentleman? What gentleman?" Mary wheeled about, as if to front this new factor. "The gentleman who called, Madam," said Trimmle, resignedly. "When did a gentleman call? Do explain yourself, Trimmle!"
She was still luxuriating in a lavish play of figures when the parlor-maid, from the threshold, roused her with a dubiously worded inquiry as to the expediency of serving luncheon. It was one of their jokes that Trimmle announced luncheon as if she were divulging a state secret, and Mary, intent upon her papers, merely murmured an absent-minded assent.
Trimmle seemed to surrender herself to a last struggle with the forces of chaos. "No, Madam. He just went out with the gentleman." "The gentleman? What gentleman?" Mary wheeled about, as if to front this new factor. "The gentleman who called, Madam," said Trimmle, resignedly. "When did a gentleman call? Do explain yourself, Trimmle!"
"But who WAS the gentleman?" Mary gasped out, with the sharp note of some one trying to be heard through a confusion of meaningless noises. "That I couldn't say, Madam." Trimmle, standing there by the lamp, seemed suddenly to grow less round and rosy, as though eclipsed by the same creeping shade of apprehension. "But the kitchen-maid knows wasn't it the kitchen-maid who let him in?"
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