“I continue to exist, madam,” Simeon proceeded. “I have not killed myself. But homicide of some sort is not improbable if—— In short, madam, good night!”
Miss Fincastle, with a long, searching, silent look at Cecil, departed.
“Bolt that door,” said Simeon to his daughter.
Then there was a third knock, followed by a hammering.
“Go away!” Simeon commanded.
“Open the door!” pleaded a muffled voice.
“It’s Harry!” Geraldine whispered solemnly in Cecil’s ear. “Please go and calm him. Tell him I say it’s too late to-night.”
Cecil went, astounded.
“What’s happened to Geraldine?” cried the boy, extremely excited, in the corridor. “There are all sorts of rumours. Is she ill?”
Cecil gave an explanation, and in his turn asked for another one. “You look unnerved,” he said. “What are you doing here? What is it? Come and have a drink. And tell me all, my young friend.” And when, over cognac, he had learnt the details of a scheme which had no connection with his own, he exclaimed, with the utmost sincerity: “The minx! The minx!”