“I want you to put him in the cellar,” said Miss Grantham remorselessly.
“What cellar?” inquired Kennet.
“This one, of course. It has a very stout lock on the door, and it is not at all damp—not that that signifies, and in any event he will be tied up.”
“It’s a grand plan you have there, me dear, but what will you be doing with him when you have him in the cellar, and what the devil ails you to want him there at all?”
“Oh, to be sure, you do not know what he has done! Read that!” said Deborah, thrusting Mr Ravenscar’s letter into his hand.
He read it with lifting brows of astonishment. “The old dog!” he ejaculated.
“Old? He isn’t old!” said Deborah, unaccountably annoyed.
“Not Ravenscar. Ormskirk.”
“Oh, him! Well yes, I must say I think it very shabby of him to serve poor Aunt Lizzie such a trick, but he is of no account, after all.”
“How did Ravenscar know he had the bills?” demanded Kennet.