They went on through the inner hall, the dining-room, two magnificent drawing-rooms, and a wretched little library, for the smallness of which the housemaid gloomily apologised.
“Mr. Bradfield’s books, like the rest of the things, were scattered in all directions about the house,” she said.
But Mrs. Abercarne was no longer charmed by this arrangement. The poor lady was really alarmed, and even the imposing proportions of the drawing-room, and the display of magnificent old plate in the dining-room, failed to rekindle her admiration. They visited the basement, where the cook and the rest of the household were formally presented to her, and then she herself cut short the inspection and returned upstairs. She lingered, as Chris and the housemaid behind her were forced to linger too, on the staircase. They were opposite a door which the housemaid had not opened; it was Mr. Bradfield’s study, she said. Just as Mrs. Abercarne was about to ask a question about the strange noises, the door from which they had issued was opened quickly, and a man-servant, out of livery, who looked heated, disordered and breathless, ran out and locked it quickly behind him.
In answer to an enquiry not spoken, but looked by the housemaid, the man said, briefly:
“It’s all right. He’s quiet now,” and disappeared quickly down the back staircase.
Mrs. Abercarne drew a long breath which sounded almost like a stifled scream; Chris looked fixedly at the locked door.
“What door is that?” she asked.
The housemaid, after hesitating a moment, and glancing towards the door of the study, answered in a low voice:
“Those are Mr. Richard’s rooms.”