‘I’m sure they will if they find out that I threw that stone at Shea.’
‘You made a very good shot,’ said Augusta, smiling at the recollection. ‘But how on earth did you come to have a stone that size in the hall with you?’
Hyacinth told the story of the man who had been felled by the chair and his murderous bequest.
‘That’s the proper spirit,’ said Augusta. ‘I admire that man, and he couldn’t have passed his stone on to better hands than yours. Shea went down as if he had been shot. I was afraid of my life he would clutch at my skirts as he fell or squirm up against me after he was down. But he lay quite still. By the way, Mary, I suppose your dress was ruined?’
Mary O’Dwyer was quite subdued.
‘It was torn,’ she said meekly enough.
‘Have you another one?’
‘Of course I have. I’ve three others, besides some old ones.’
‘Well, then, you’d better go and put on one of them. An old one will do. It’s disgusting to see a woman slopping about in a dressing-gown at this time of day. I’ll have tea ready when you come back.’
Miss O’Dwyer obeyed sulkily. She wished very much that Augusta Goold had stopped at home. It would have been a great deal pleasanter to have gone on practising hysterics with Hyacinth as a sympathetic spectator. When the door was shut Augusta Goold turned to Hyacinth again.