"You know I will, my dear."
Jenny advanced into the room. Sinking into one of the wicker chairs beside a round table, she threw her pullover on the table. At this change of subject abruptly introduced but well received, more emotion should have been drained away. And yet, in Jenny's case at least it was not
"Ruth Callice," she bit at her underlip, "Ruth Callice says you and she and this barrister had some horrible idea of spending a night in the execution shed at Pentecost to see whether there were any ghosts of hanged people. Ruth says you suggested it" "Well… in a way I did yes."
"She says you promised. But yon wont go now, will you?’’ Martin laughed.
"Under the circumstances, Jenny, I think they'll make no difficulty about releasing me from the promise." He turned to Ricky. "Would you like to substitute for me?"
"Would I?" exploded Ricky. The words 'prison' and 'ghosts’ had powerful effect Again taking out pipe and lighter, his dark-blond hair falling over his forehead, he snapped on the lighter and kindled the tobacco with deep inhalations.
"Listen," he went on, with a waving gesture of pipe and smoke. "I’ve been trying to get a look inside that place for nearly ten years, ever since they hoicked the convicts out But you can't get in, any more than the poor devils could get out How are you going to do it?"
"Rickyl"
Jenny's small voice stopped him. He looked at her curiously. She was half lying back in the chair, the yellow hair thrown back, her face with a little more of its customary pallor.
"All the p-pleasant things," she stammered, gripping the arms of the chair, "have got mixed up with the dreadful ones. It was awfully kind of you to… to…"