The Servant Problem | Page 4

"You're in a class by yourself." Tiny silver flecks had come into her
eyes, and he realized to his astonishment that they were flecks of
malevolence. "You've never married, but playing the field hasn't made
you one hundred per cent cynical. You're still convinced that
somewhere there is a woman worthy of your devotion. And you're quite
right--the world is full of them."

His face tingled as though she had slapped it, and in a sense, she had.
He restrained his anger with difficulty. "I didn't know that my celibacy
was that noticeable," he said.
"It isn't. I took the liberty of having a private investigator check into
your background. It proved to be unsavory in some respects, as I
implied before, but unlike the backgrounds of the other real-estate
agents I had checked, it contained not the slightest hint of dishonesty.
The nature of my business is such that I need someone of maximum
integrity to contract it with. I had to go far and wide to find you."
"You're being unfair," Philip said, mollified despite himself. "Most
real-estate agents are honest. As a matter of fact, there's one in the same
office building with me that I'd trust with the family jewels--if I had
any family jewels."
"Good," Judith Darrow said. "I gambled on you knowing someone like
that."
He waited for her to elaborate, and when she did not he finished his
coffee and stood up. "If you don't mind, I'll turn in," he said. "I've had a
pretty hard day."
"I'll show you your room."
She got two candles, lit them, and after placing them in gilt
candlesticks, handed one of the candlesticks to him. The room was on
the third floor in under the eaves--as faraway from hers, probably, as
the size of the house permitted. Philip did not mind. He liked to sleep in
rooms under eaves. There was an enchantment about the rain on the
roof that people who slept in less celestial bowers never got to know.
After Judith left, he threw open the single window and undressed and
climbed into bed. Remembering the rose, he got it out of his coat
pocket and examined it by candlelight. It was green all right--even
greener than he had at first thought. Its scent was reminiscent of the
summer breeze that was blowing through the downstairs rooms, though
not at all in keeping with the chill October air that was coming through
his bedroom window. He laid it on the table beside the bed and blew

out the candle. He would go looking for the bush tomorrow.
* * * * *
Philip was an early riser, and dawn had not yet departed when, fully
dressed, he left the room with the rose in his coat pocket and quietly
descended the stairs. Entering the living room, he found Zarathustra
curled up in one of the armchairs, and for a moment he had the eerie
impression that the animal had extended one of his shaggy ears and was
scratching his back with it. When Philip did a doubletake, however, the
ear was back to normal size and reposing on its owner's tawny cheek.
Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he said, "Come on, Zarathustra,
we're going for a walk."
He headed for the back door, Zarathustra at his heels. A double door
leading off the dining room barred his way and proved to be locked.
Frowning, he returned to the living room. "All right," he said to
Zarathustra, "we'll go out the front way then."
[Illustration]
He walked around the side of the house, his canine companion trotting
beside him. The side yard turned out to be disappointing. It contained
no roses--green ones, or any other kind. About all it did contain that
was worthy of notice was a dog house--an ancient affair that was much
too large for Zarathustra and which probably dated from the days when
Judith had owned a larger dog. The yard itself was a mess: the grass
hadn't been cut all summer, the shrubbery was ragged, and dead leaves
lay everywhere. A similar state of affairs existed next door, and
glancing across lots, he saw that the same desuetude prevailed
throughout the entire neighborhood. Obviously the good citizens of
Valleyview had lost interest in their real estate long before they had
moved out.
At length his explorations led him to the back door. If there were green
roses anywhere, the trellis that adorned the small back porch was the
logical place for them to be. He found nothing but bedraggled Virginia
creeper and more dead leaves.

He tried the back door, and finding it locked, circled the rest of the way
around the house. Judith was waiting for him on the front porch. "How
nice of you to walk Zarathustra," she said