‘Mr. Lock, let me introduce my daughter Juana, my daughter Teresa. My dears, this is Mr. Simon Lock, who has run down to see me on a matter of business, and will do us the honour of breakfasting with us.’
The meal, despite the ordinariness of its service, had the deadly and tremendous formality of a state dinner at Buckingham Palace. Conversation, led judicially by the host himself, was kept up without a break, but Simon Lock distinctly proved that the social arts were not his forte. The girls talked timidly, like school misses on their best behaviour, while Richard’s pose and Richard’s words were governed by more than his characteristic caution. Only Raphael Craig seemed at ease, and the old man appeared to take a ferocious but restrained delight in the unnatural atmosphere which he had created. It was as if he saw written on every face the expectation of some dreadful sequel, and rejoiced in those signs of fear and dread. His eyes said: ‘Yes, I can see that you are all desperately uncomfortable. It is well. You are afraid of something happening, and you shall not be disappointed.’
‘Now, girls,’ he said lightly, after the meal was finished, ‘go and amuse yourselves, and don’t forget your poor patient upstairs.’
‘You have someone ill in the house?’ Simon Lock ventured.
‘Yes,’ said Craig; ‘a fool of a Scotland Yard detective who got himself into trouble up here by ferreting about.’
Simon Lock turned pale.
‘He was nearly killed,’ Raphael Craig went on. ‘We are nursing him back to life,’ The old man laughed. ‘And now for our business,’ he said, and turned to Richard. ‘I will see Mr. Lock in the drawing-room, and I shall ask you, Mr. Redgrave, to be present at our interview.’
‘Is that necessary?’ asked Simon Lock pompously.
‘I have omitted to tell you,’ said Raphael Craig, ‘that Mr. Richard Redgrave is my prospective son-in-law, engaged to my daughter Teresa. I have no secrets from him.’
Simon Lock bowed. They returned to the drawing-room, and at a sign from Raphael Craig Richard closed the door.