I rang again, but still there was no answer. And then it occurred
to me that the stillness below stairs was almost oppressive.
Bella was noticing things, too, for she began to fasten her veil
again with a malicious little smile.

"One of the things I remember my late husband saying," she
observed, "was that HE could manage this house, and had done it
for years, with flawless service. Stand on the bell, Kit."

I did. We stood there, with the table, just as it had been left,
between us, and waited for a response. Bella was growing
impatient. She raised her eyebrows (she is very handsome, Bella
is) and flung out her chin as if she had begun to enjoy the
horrible situation.

I thought I heard a rattle of silver from the pantry just then,
and I hurried to the door in a rage. But the pantry was empty of
servants and full of dishes, and all the lights were out but one,
which was burning dimly. I could have sworn that I saw one of the
servants duck into the stairway to the basement, but when I got
there the stairs were empty, and something was burning in the
kitchen below.

Bella had followed me and was peering over my shoulder curiously.

"There isn't a servant in the house," she said triumphantly. And
when we went down to the kitchen, she seemed to be right. It was
in disgraceful order, and one of the bottles of wine that had ben
banished from the dining room sat half empty on the floor.