It was only a grey-covered book, open and face down. But its title, which was The Cavaliers, 1625–1649, made it seem an odd book for this particular room. Martin turned it over and glanced at the flyleaf. He was greeted by the following formidable and menacing announcement of ownership, done in red crayon:
ME — H.M.
The old maestro himself seemed to scowl out of that flyleaf, warning with ferocity an attempted book-pincher to keep away. Martin's grin became a laugh, and he got up. It was infernal nonsense, letting these bugbears weaken-his knees and letting him grow soft noting the position of the door, he switched off the lamp and walked slowly to the door.
The upper hall outside was luxuriously furnished and softly lighted. At the rear was the staircase, beside its tall arched window. He went downstairs without a tremor, walked to the front of the lower hall with its polished hardwood floor; and hesitated. But he did not hesitate long.
Green Room and library, which were on the right as you faced the front door from inside, showed no light But a faint glow filtered out from the left-hand door at the front
Also, Martin heard a familiar voice.
"Honest-Injun," the voice rumbled with a faint note of surprise, "you'd like to hear all about it?"
"I'd love to," said the attractive and still-young voice of Aunt Cicely.
"You want to know what Charles the First said about me?" "I do, really."
"Ahem!" said the other voice, beginning to take on a stern, stuffed air.