“That’s magic, if you like,” he said.
And then Jane held up the Amulet, uttering the word of Power. At the sound of it and at the sight of the Amulet growing into the great arch the soldier fell flat on his face among the jewels with a cry of awe and terror.
The children went through the arch with a quickness born of long practice. But Jane stayed in the middle of the arch and looked back.
The others, standing on the dining-room carpet in Fitzroy Street, turned and saw her still in the arch. “Someone’s holding her,” cried Cyril. “We must go back.”
But they pulled at Jane’s hands just to see if she would come, and, of course, she did come.
Then, as usual, the arch was little again and there they all were.
“Oh, I do wish you hadn’t!” Jane said crossly. “It was so interesting. The priest had come in and he was kicking the soldier, and telling him he’d done it now, and they must take the jewels and flee for their lives.”
“And did they?”
“I don’t know. You interfered,” said Jane ungratefully. “I should have liked to see the last of it.”
As a matter of fact, none of them had seen the last of it—if by “it” Jane meant the adventure of the Priest and the Soldier.