"There? Do you say it's—it's supposed to be there?" she asked eagerly, with a shake in her voice.
Her husband interposed in a suave and sanctimonious voice: "My dear, if Mr. Beaumaroy and the other gentleman won't mind my saying so, I've been feeling that these are rather light and frivolous topics for the day, and the occasion which brings us here. The whole thing is probably an unfounded story, although there is a sound moral to it. Later on—just as a matter of curiosity—if you like, my dear. But to-day—Cousin Aloysius's day of burial—is it quite seemly?"
The big woman looked at her smaller mate for just a moment—a scrutinizing look. Then she said with most unexpected meekness, "I was wrong. You always have the proper feelings, Radbolt."
"The fault was mine, entirely mine," Beaumaroy hastily interposed. "I dragged in the old yarn, I led Mr. Naylor into telling it, I told you about what I said to Mr. Saffron and how he took it. All my fault! I acknowledge the justice of your rebuke. I apologize, Mr. Radbolt! And I think that we've exhausted the interest of the Tower." He looked at his watch; "Er—how do you stand for time? Shall Mrs. Wiles make us a cup of tea, or have you a train to catch?"
"That's the woman in charge of the house, isn't it?" asked Mrs. Radbolt.
"Comes in for the day. She doesn't sleep here." He smiled pleasantly on Mrs. Radbolt. "To tell you the truth, I don't think that she would consent to sleep here by herself. Silly! But—the old story, you know!
"Don't you sleep here?" the woman persisted, though her husband was looking at her rather uneasily.
"Up to now I have," said Beaumaroy. "But there's nothing to keep me here now, and Mr. Naylor has kindly offered to put me up as long as I stay at Inkston."
"Going to leave the place with nobody in it?"
Beaumaroy's manner indicated surprise. "Oh, yes! There's nothing to tempt thieves, is there? Just lock the door and put the key in my pocket!"