"You have me there, sister," replied Sally. "I'm damned if I know, but I'm going to have a shot at finding out."
Luncheon was announced a moment later, and the subject of Ernest Fletcher's death was abandoned. Throughout the meal, Helen said little, and ate less. Miss Drew maintained a cheerful flow of small talk, and North, having eaten a hurried meal, left the table early, informing his wife that he would be back to dinner.
After the ladies had finished their coffee, Sally gave it as her considered opinion that Helen would be the better for a rest. Somewhat to her surprise Helen fell in with this suggestion, and allowed herself to be escorted upstairs. When Sally lowered the window-blinds she said: "You aren't really going round to Greystones, are you?"
"Yes, I am. Taking a message of condolence from you to poor old Miss Fletcher. I shall say you are writing to her, of course."
A faint voice from amongst the banked-up pillows said: "Oh! I ought to have done that!"
Time enough when you've had a nap," said Sally, and withdrew.
Half-an-hour later, when she presented herself at the front door at Greystones, it was to be met by the intelligence that Miss Fletcher, like Helen, was resting. She was spared the necessity of inquiring for Neville by that willowy young gentleman's strolling out of the drawing-room into the hall, and inviting her to enter and solace his boredom.
Simmons made it plain by his cough and general air of pious gloom that he considered the invitation unseasonable, but as neither Sally nor Neville paid the slightest heed to him, there was nothing for him to do but to retire to his own domain, on the far side of a baize door leading out of the hall, and draw, for his wife's edification, an unpleasing picture of the fate awaiting the hard-hearted and the irreligious.
Meanwhile, Neville had escorted his visitor into the drawing-room. "Come to see the sights, darling?" he inquired. "You're too late to see the dragging of the lilypool."
"Ah!" she said. "So they're after the weapon, are they?"