“They won’t open the door,” said Bundle. “Because you are going to lock it and take the key away.”
“And if by any chance Mr. Mosgorovsky should ask for the key?”
“Tell him it’s lost,” said Bundle briskly. “But nobody’s going to worry about this cupboard—it’s only here to attract attention from the other one and make a pair. Go on, Alfred, someone might come at any time. Lock me in and take the key and come and let me out when everyone’s gone.”
“You’ll be taken bad, my lady. You’ll faint—”
“I never faint,” said Bundle. “But you might as well get me a cocktail. I shall certainly need it. Then lock the door of the room again—don’t forget—and take all the door keys back to their proper doors. And Alfred—don’t be too much of a rabbit. Remember, if anything goes wrong, I’ll see you through.”
“And that’s that,” said Bundle to herself when, having served the cocktail, Alfred had finally departed.
She was not nervous lest Alfred’s nerve should fail and he should give her away. She knew that his sense of self-preservation was far too strong for that. His training alone helped him to conceal private emotions beneath the mask of a well-trained servant.
Only one thing worried Bundle. The interpretation she had chosen to put upon the cleaning of the room that morning might be all wrong. And if so—Bundle sighed in the narrow confines of the cupboard. The prospect of spending long hours in it for nothing was not attractive.