The Master of the Priory by Annie Haynes Page A

spare-looking man, with a stoop that seemed habitual about his thin shoulders; and, for the rest, he was clean-shaven with mild-looking blue eyes that seemed to be perpetually blinking. Sybil though he looked more like a professor or a student than a private detective.
    He had resumed his seat at his writing-table.
    â€œYou wished to see me?” he said interrogatively.
    â€œYes.” Sybil fumbled with her satchel. It was more difficult to begin than she had anticipated. “You—you inquire into other people’s pasts, don’t you?” she said abruptly.
    Mr. Gregg bowed. “If anybody has reason for us to do so, madam.”
    He was a little puzzled by Sybil. She was not married, so there was no peccant husband to be inquired about. It must be a lover, he decided, but women of Sybil’s class did not often come to him for help. His interest was distinctly roused.
    â€œAnd you don’t let them know that they are being inquired about, or anyone else?” Sybil went on feverishly. “So, if it all comes to nothing, there is no harm done?”
    â€œNo harm at all,” the detective acquiesced. “I think we know our work, madam, and secrecy is one of the first essentials. You may safely trust yourself in our hands.”
    â€œYes, I thought so,” Sybil said in a relieved tone. “I want you to find out all you can about the past of a woman who is a governess at Davenant Priory to my little cousin, Sir Oswald Davenant’s daughter.”
    A shade of surprise flitted over Mr. Gregg’s face. This was not at all what he had expected to hear.
    â€œCertainly, madam.”
    He drew a heavy ledger towards him and turned over the leaves. Then with his pen uplifted he waited, looking at Sybil.
    â€œWill you give me any particulars you can of the lady—any reason you may have for thinking her past may hold some secret? I presume you had references with her?”
    â€œMy aunt had,” Sybil corrected. “Written ones only from a great friend, Mrs. Sunningdale, who is now in India. She was most enthusiastic about Miss Martin, I believe.”
    Mr. Gregg blinked at her. “I presume you have some definite reason for being dissatisfied with Miss Martin, for making inquiries about her?”
    â€œI am dissatisfied with her in every way,” Sybil said with gathering energy. “I am convinced that she is an adventuress, but I want you to find me some definite grounds on which to proceed.”
    Mr. Gregg’s blue eyes still blinked. All this was very interesting from his point of view, but he saw clearly enough that the affair might resolve itself into merely a matter of jealousy between two women and he felt by no means certain of Sybil Lorrimer’s ability to pay his expenses. Messrs. Gregg and Stubbs were not inclined to work for nothing.
    â€œBut, Miss Lorrimer,” he said, with a slight hesitation in his manner, “you may be quite right, very possibly you are, but I must say again, I suppose you have some reason for your suspicion, for speaking of Miss Martin as an adventuress?”
    The interview was not proceeding precisely as Sybil had expected. Questioned thus, her distrust of the governess seemed almost baseless. Still, some instinct stronger than reason told her that she was on the right track, that there was some secret in Miss Martin’s past, and she was determined to discover it.
    â€œIt isn’t easy to put the reason for one’s suspicions into words,” she said slowly. “Of course if it were more than suspicion I should have no need to come to you, Mr. Gregg.”
    A movement of the detective’s eyelids showed that he appreciated this thrust. He began to see that this fluffy, golden-haired lady had more in her than he had imagined.
    â€œHer very appearance suggests a disguise,” Sybil went on. “She has large grey eyes, apparently quite strong, and yet she constantly wears smoke-coloured