Lady Brayle stumbled a little on the top step. She went over to the octagonal room, whose oriel window faced the drive, and opened the door.
In the window-seat, his back to the leaded panes. Sir Henry Merrivale sat smoking a cigar. Chief Inspector Masters stood beside him. Jenny, at the other side of the window, looked at the floor.
Lady Brayle groped for and found a chair. She sat down heavily. She drew her breath heavily through her heavy body. For a few seconds she stared at the carpet, and then looked up.
They cheered me," she said.
Her tone was one of incredulity, though perhaps she had not meant it as such. It was that of one half-waking from hypnosis. They cheered me!" she repeated. Nobody else spoke.
Lady Brayle seemed vaguely to notice the riding-crop in her hand. As though nobody else in the room knew what happened, she went on.
"I — that is, Mr. Barnham was kind enough to send me over in a car. An open car. With a driver. I gripped this in my hand. From some distance away one of the wr-wretches saw the car coming, and ran to tell his fellow — other people. As we swung in at the gates I stood up and gripped this. For I could hear them roaring. But…
"They were lined up on each side of the drive and beyond. Heaven knows how many of them. Some waved balloons, and some waved Union Jacks. They were shouting and cheering for me. Then, I believe, some wr-wretched band struck up. They began to sing."
It was unnecessary to tell her listeners, even if they did not know. For at that moment, beyond the oriel window, the band struck up with the same tune and the voices-joined again,
"For she's a jolly good fel-low, For she's a jolly good fellow, For she's…"