“Does she know him so well—how odd!” she said.
“It’s the name of an inn, ma’am. He’s married. Yes, he walks through the churchyard and he’s never seen anything. His wife—she’s got a bitter tongue—says that she’s not surprised. He can’t see her by the time he gets home. My sister Agrippa is as brave as a lion—it runs in the family. What’s that!”
He half rose. From the hall came the sound of stealthy footsteps.
“Go out and see.”
She reached for the gun.
Mr. Superbus went reluctantly, making a wide detour. You can as easily see into the hall from the far side of the room as from the doorway. She saw him creep slowly onward until he was in a position, by stretching his neck, to command a view of the hall.
“Don’t shoot, ma’am,” he quavered; “it’s Aunt!”
Heloise advanced into the room, a scowl on her face.
“What’s the trouble?” she demanded. “I heard somebody running upstairs.”
Her eyes fell on the biscuit tin. She reached for a handful, sat down before the unlit fire and munched moodily.