She would not give herself time to be disconcerted.
"I am coming down again," she said, and ran on.
Barely a quarter of an hour after the encounter with Caryl, dressed in a long dark motoring coat and closely veiled, she slipped down the back stairs that led to the servants' quarters, stood listening against a baize door that led into the front hall, then whisked it open and fled across to open the conservatory door, noiseless as a shadow.
The conservatory was in semi-darkness.

She expected to see no one; looked for no one.

A moment she paused by the door that led into the garden, and in that pause she heard a slight sound.

It might have been anything.

It probably was a creak from one of the wicker chairs that stood in a corner.