Chapter Forty One.
The Sword Falls.
Olive was rather unwell on the morning after the picnic. It was nothing to worry about, she declared. She supposed she had overdone it, and was a little tired. Any way, she would stay in bed till the afternoon. So Roland and Sophie sat down to a late breakfast alone, Marsland having left earlier to spend a few days at Ardleigh.
“What a jolly day we had yesterday!” the girl was saying. “Olive didn’t catch cold, did she, Roland?”
“No. She’ll be all right after a good sleep. Roy, you vagabond, shut up. That melodious voice of yours is matter in the wrong place just now.”
But Roy, who had been lying curled up on the rug, refused to be silenced. His threatening growl became a deep-toned bay, and his ruff began to rise, as with fangs bared he sprang towards the door, which was yet shut. There were voices in the hall. Then the door opened.
“Come here, Roy, d’you hear, sir?” cried Roland, seizing him by the neck and dragging him by main force towards the rug. “Now. Lie down, sir.”
The dog would hardly obey, but half rose again, keeping up a running note of growls.
“Please, sir,” said the butler, entering, “there are two gentlemen want to see you very particular.”