"A dangerous moment," observed Geoffrey, picking up a magazine and turning over the pages.
"Yes, I wish I had seen it go. A fine sight it must have been, six feet of water in that narrow channel. But we were on the way to the farm, I suppose, when it happened. I must talk—I must talk to Harry about it this evening. It will want mending at once."
At this moment Geoffrey heard Harry's foot on the stairs just outside the hall. Though he knew nothing of psychology, he believed this to be a psychological moment.
"Is he out still?" he asked, seeing out of the corner of his eye that he was even now entering the hall.
"I suppose so," said Mr. Francis. "He left me on the way up to the farm."
Harry had now entered the hall, and his step was noiseless on the thick carpet. Mr. Francis, with his chair facing the fire, could not see him, but another half-dozen paces would bring him close.
"You are wrong," said Geoffrey slowly, "for he seems to have come in. This is he, is it not? Or his ghost?"
Mr. Francis, contrary to the doctor's orders, made an exceedingly brisk movement, springing to his feet and facing about. He saw Harry; he cast one brief look at Geoffrey, to which fear and a devilish enmity contributed largely, and turned to his nephew again in perfect control of himself and without further hesitation. Geoffrey had scarce time to tell himself that there was an awkward choice he had to make.
"Ah! my dear boy," he cried, "so you are all right. I felt sure you would be. But for a moment, for one moment, I was anxious, when I came back from the farm with the men and we found the sluice broken."
Geoffrey stared in sheer astonishment at the man's glibness.