At this point of both murderousness and mirth, he became conscious of the great man's voice from the direction of the drawing-room. It was now raised to a serious and oratorical pitch, holding his listeners.
H.M. said: "What we got to remember, y'see, is the noble dignity of Curtius Merrivale. I wish I could paint you the picture of Charles the First sittin' in that noble Banqueting Hall, designed by Inigo Jones, with all his family gathered round just as you see it in the portraits. (Mind, I don't say these are the exact words; it's the idea.) And Charles the First would say, 'Sir Curtius, will you not favour us with some amusing conceit?'
"And Curtius Merrivale would get up, sweepin' off his plumed hat like this, and he'd say:
" There was a young girl from Bel Air, Who used to—'"
"H.M.!" thundered Martin, with full power of lungs. It was enough to bring even H.M. to an abrupt stop. And Martin, torn between two feelings, could only sputter mentally.
"Did you," he shouted down the hall, "put a damn great Ghost-Train under Lady Brayle's bedroom?"
This question, whatever else may be said about it was at least arresting. It roused attention and curiosity. After short silence, there was movement.
Ricky Fleet in white flannels and white shirt with tears of emotion in his eyes after what had been a long narration by H.M. raced and skidded along the hardwood floor. He was
followed by Aunt Cicely, now seriously angry with H-M. for his romantic anecdotes. Last of all, with a lofty air, marched H.M. himself.
"Didn't you," Martin demanded, "put the biggest travelling fair in England slap on the main drive of Brayle Manor?’