Heads were turned directly, among those whose attention was taken being a barrister in wig and gown, just on his way to the court, where Mr Justice Blank was giving his attention to a divorce case.
Miss Jerrold saw the legal gentleman’s smile, and guessed its meaning.
“How stupid!” she muttered. Then, as the footman came to the door: “Edward,” she whispered hurriedly, “take that stupid satin bow from your breast. Tell Johnson, too.”
The favour disappeared as the door was thrown open, and Sir Mark sprang out to go straight on toward the inn; then, recollecting himself, he turned to help his sister alight.
But he was too late. Percy Guest had performed that duty, and the lady took his arm and followed the admiral on into the calm silence of the old inn, past the porter’s lodge, unnoticed by its occupant; then on across the square, under its shady plane trees, toward the fine old red brick mansion in the corner, with its iron lamp support and curious old link extinguishers on either side.
The place was utterly deserted, and so still that the creaking of the admiral’s new boots sounded loud and strange, while as they mounted the worn steps and entered the gloomy hall of the old place it struck chilly and damp, while the great stone staircase had a look that seemed forbidding and strange.
“You have brought us here,” said Sir Mark, stopping short at the foot of the stairs. “Go first.”
He gave place to Guest, who led Miss Jerrold on and up the two flights to the broad landing, upon which the doors of Brettison’s and Stratton’s chambers opened.
“One moment while I get my breath,” panted Miss Jerrold; “I’m not so young as I used to be, Mr Guest.”
The admiral frowned, and stood scowling at the legend on the door, but it seemed cold and blank now, for there was no ray of sunshine to make the letters stand out clear. All looked murky and grim, and the utter silence of the place was impressive as that of a tomb.