Fearful of having an interview with the old lady alone, which was not likely to lead to what I wanted, I stepped from a window which was open, out upon the terrace, and thence down the steps to the lawn below. The servant had just informed Mrs Oldcastle of my visit when I came near. She drew herself up in her chair, and evidently chose to regard my approach as an intrusion.
“I did not expect a visit from you to-day, Mr Walton, you will allow me to say.”
“I am doing Sunday work,” I answered. “Will you kindly tell me whether you were in London on Thursday last? But stay, allow me to ask Miss Oldcastle to join us.”
Without waiting for answer, I went to Miss Oldcastle, and begged her to come and listen to something in which I wanted her help. She rose courteously though without cordiality, and accompanied me to her mother, who sat with perfect rigidity, watching us.
“Again let me ask,” I said, “if you were in London on Thursday.”
Though I addressed the old lady, the answer came from her daughter.
“Yes, we were.”
“Were you in—-& Co.’s, in—-Street?”
But now before Miss Oldcastle could reply, her mother interposed.
“Are we charged with shoplifting, Mr Walton? Really, one is not accustomed to such cross-questioning—except from a lawyer.”