She was sure of the direction:  ‘Out Camden way, where the murder was.’

They walked at a brisk pace, conversing or not.

‘Tired?  You must be,’ he said.

‘Not when I’m hot to do a thing.’

‘There’s the word of the thoroughbred!’

‘You don’t tire, sir,’ said she.  ’Sally and I see you stalking out for the open country in the still of the morning.  She thinks you look pale for want of food, and ought to have some one put a biscuit into your pocket overnight.’

‘Who’d have guessed I was under motherly observation!’

‘You shouldn’t go so long empty, if you listen to trainers.’

‘Capital doctors, no doubt.  But I get a fine appetite.’

‘You may grind the edge too sharp.’

He was about to be astonished, and reflected that she had grounds for her sagacity.  His next thought plunged him into contempt for Kit Ines, on account of the fellow’s lapses to sottishness.  But there would be no contempt of Kit Ines in a tussle with him.  Nor could one funk the tussle and play cur, if Kit’s engaged young woman were looking on.  We get to our courage or the show of it by queer screws.

Contemplative over these matters, the philosopher transformed to man of action heard Madge say she read directions in London by churches, and presently exclaiming disdainfully, and yet relieved, ‘Spooner Villas,’ she turned down a row of small detached houses facing a brickfield, that had just contributed to the erection of them, and threatened the big city with further defacements.

Madge pointed to the marks of her jump, deep in flower-bed earth under an open window.

Gower measured the height with sensational shanks.

She smote at the door.  Carinthia nodded from her window.  Close upon that, Kit Ines came bounding to the parlour window; he spied and stared.  Gower was known to him as the earl’s paymaster; so he went to the passage and flung the door open, blocking the way.

‘Any commands, your honour?’

‘You bring the countess to my lord immediately,’ said Gower.

Kit swallowed his mouthful of surprise in a second look at Madge and the ploughed garden-bed beneath the chamber window.

‘Are the orders written, sir?’

’To me?—­for me to deliver to you?—­for you to do my lord’s bidding?  Where’s your head?’

Kit’s finger-nails travelled up to it.  Madge pushed past him.  She and her mistress, and Kit’s mate, and the old woman receiving the word for a cup of tea, were soon in the passage.  Kit’s mate had a ready obedience for his pay, nothing else,—­no counsel at all, not a suggestion to a head knocked to a pudding by Madge’s jump and my lord’s paymaster here upon the scene.

‘My lady was to go down Wales way, sir.’

‘That may be ordered after.’

’I ‘m to take my lady to my lord?’ and, ’Does it mean my lady wants a fly?’ Kit asked, and harked back on whether Madge had seen my lord.