“Only fidgets,” said Edwin.
“I hope this isn’t one of your preliminaries for clearing out and leaving me alone,” Charlie complained. “Here—where’s that glass of yours? Have another cigarette.”
There was a sound that seemed to resemble a tap on the door.
“What’s that noise?” said Edwin, startled. The whole of his epidermis tingled, and he stood still. They both listened.
The sound was repeated. Yes, it was a tap on the door; but in the night, and in the repose of the house, it had the character of some unearthly summons.
Edwin was near the door. He hesitated for an instant afraid, and then with an effort brusquely opened the door and looked forth beyond the shelter of the room. A woman’s figure was disappearing down the passage in the direction of the stairs. It was she.
“Did you—” he began. But Hilda had gone. Agitated, he said to Charlie, his hand still on the knob: “It’s Mrs Cannon. She just knocked and ran off. I expect she wants you.”
Charlie jumped up and scurried out of the room exactly like a boy, despite his tall, mature figure of a man of thirty-five.