up.
'I can lock you in!' said Romilly, with an attempt at playfulness.
'You could, perhaps, if you had the key. I took the liberty of removing it from the door almost as soon as I arrived here, and have been carrying it about with me ever since.'
'Well, I shall not think of attempting to gain possession of it by force,' said Romilly, laughing. 'But, my very dear Beatrice,
'We shall see,' said Dame Beatrice. 'Meanwhile, your visitors continue to arrive.'
'Yes, we had better go down and meet them.' He hung up the picture he had taken down, and then shook his head at it. 'Very strange,' he said. '
Dame Beatrice made no attempt to guess, and Romilly led the way downstairs. In the hall they found Judith and Rosamund in conversation with a long-haired youth and a crop-headed girl who, it was easy to see, were the twins, Corin and Corinna.
'It's too terribly good of you to put us up for a whole week,' said Corinna to Romilly.
'Too terribly good,' echoed her brother. 'Saves the expense of digs, and seaside digs are ghastly, anyway. Hullo, Great-aunt,' he added to Dame Beatrice. 'I don't suppose you remember us, because you haven't seen us since we were babies. How are you? This quiet chap beside me is Giles. Tancred I expect you've already met, likewise Humphrey and Binnie, who are having a row in the parlour. Well, now that we all know one another, I'm bound to inform you that my twin is dying on her feet for a cup of tea. I know it isn't tea-time, but if you want to save a life...'
'It is quite time for tea,' said Judith, 'but we were hoping that Hubert and Willoughby would have joined us. It doesn't matter, though. They can have theirs later.'
'Well, we can't very well have our meeting until they arrive,' said Romilly.
'What meeting would that be, Uncle Romilly?' asked Tancred.
'I want to acquaint you all with the provisions of my will.'
'Oh, goody!' exclaimed Binnie. 'Is your fortune big enough to go round?'
'If it isn't, you shall have my share, Binnie,' said Tancred, 'and this evening, in the twilight, I'll read my poems to you. You'd like that, wouldn't you?'
'I like money, but I don't understand poetry very much.'
'You don't need to understand mine.'
'I suppose it's quite incomprehensible, anyway,' said Humphrey, sneering, 'as well as being thoroughly poor stuff.'
'An usher wouldn't know whether it is or whether it isn't,' said Tancred. 'What do you dish out to your pupils? Longfellow, or Mrs Hemans?'
Tea was brought in, dinner followed at seven and, after dinner, Judith played and sang. At half-past ten a move was made
towards bed.
'We can't expect Hubert and Willoughby tonight, it seems,' said Romilly. On gaining her room, Dame Beatrice rearranged her bedding so that she was sleeping head-to-foot in the big fourposter. She left the picture leaning against the foot of the wall, although what whim had caused her to take it down again she hardly knew, any more than she knew what instinct had made her change her bedcoverings round. She did know that, in spite of his laughter, which had sounded spontaneous and unforced, she had made an enemy of Romilly. There was also the slight mystery as to which member of the household had actually invited the guests, and there was Romilly's anxiety, which had been apparent during the whole of the evening, because two of the guests, Hubert, the clergyman and Willoughby, the secretary, had neither put in an appearance nor sent a letter of excuse. Romilly had fumed and fidgeted and made several references to their absence, so much so that Judith, who did not seem to share his feeling of unease, had at last chided him sharply.
'For heaven's sake,' she had exclaimed, 'stop worrying over the wretched pair! What does it matter whether they're here or not? You didn't have them last time, anyway.'
'I don't want to hold my meeting without them,' Romilly had pettishly replied. 'It will spoil everything if we're two people short.'
Dame Beatrice was glad that the evening was over. What with the bickering of Humphrey and Tancred, Binnie's tears, which started up readily when her husband was more than usually unkind, Romilly's fretting and a certain restlessness which all this not unnaturally induced in the quiet and inoffensive Giles, together with the vapid and (she thought) nervous chatter of the twins, the hours between tea and dinner and then between dinner and bedtime, had been anything but pleasant.
She got ready for bed in a leisurely manner, for it was very much earlier than her usual time for retiring. On the other hand, there was no point in staying up, for she had too much respect for her aging eyesight to strain it by attempting to read by candlelight, which was the only form of lighting in her vast and shadowy room. Neither, at that hour, did she expect to fall asleep, and she was lying contentedly in the huge, comfortable bed, glad of her own company after the uneasy and boring hours downstairs, when she was aware of slight sounds coming from the direction of the hole in the wall. The next moment there was a startling report from a firearm. Dead silence followed for a moment and then came the sound of a door closing. Dame Beatrice had locked her own door. She slipped out of bed, made her way to the locked door and listened, but even her keen hearing could detect no further sound.
The silence, however, was not prolonged. There were footsteps on the stairs and in the gallery, and voices raised excitedly. Then came a hammering on the door of her room and a shouted question from Romilly.
