"Barbed wire," said Tchigorsky. "Laid down to trap—er—burglars."
"But on no other occasion——"
Mrs. May paused and bit her lips. Tchigorsky smiled. He understood what she was going to say. On no other occasion when she had been here had she encountered a similar obstacle.
Geoffrey was frankly puzzled.
"How did you get here?" he asked. "When the gates are closed——"
"But they were not closed an hour ago when I slipped into the yard," was the reply. "I am ashamed to say that I allowed sheer vulgar curiosity to get the better of me, and now I am properly punished for my error of taste."
"Nothing but curiosity," Tchigorsky murmured. "My dear Ravenspur, you may dismiss any unworthy suspicions from your mind. The glamor of your name and the fatal romance that clings to your race have proved too much for the most charming and most tender-hearted of her sex."
"I have no suspicions at all," said Geoffrey.
"Of course not," Tchigorsky spoke in the same mocking way. The light yet keen sarcasm was lost on Geoffrey, but the other listener understood. "Mrs. May would not injure a living creature—not a fly or a bee."
The white face flashed again. By this time the woman was on her feet. One foot she found it almost impossible to put to the ground.