"Revolvers?" said Mr. Titmarsh blinking. "Dear me, sounds very bloodthirsty. Really I do not think I should advise you to use them, Mr. Malcolm. Tut, tut, there is no knowing whom you might not shoot by mistake."
"Well I can safely promise not to shoot you by mistake," said Charles.
However, this assurance did not relieve Mr. Titmarsh's alarms. He seemed genuinely perturbed, and tried once more to convince the two men that Margaret had been the victim of a hallucination. Neither of them attempted to argue the point, and at last, after refusing the offer of a drink, Mr. Titmarsh took his leave, and made off again down the avenue.
As he shot the bolts of the front door home, Peter looked at Charles. "I think this is where we talk to the District Inspector," he said. "I still don't believe that Titmarsh is the man we're after, but his presence in the grounds at just that moment is a little too significant to be brushed aside."
Charles nodded. "All right, we'll go over to Manfield to-morrow."
It was long before Margaret fell asleep that night. She had omitted any reference to Michael Strange in her account of what happened. Until she started to tell the others all about it she had meant to keep nothing back. And then somehow or other she had left that gap, and at once had been horrified at herself for not telling the whole truth. Only the moment the words "and then Mr. Titmarsh came up' had passed her lips, it had seemed impossible to add, "but before that Michael Strange appeared, and clapped his hand over my mouth." It would look so odd not to have told that first of all. She asked instead to be allowed to go to bed, with a vague idea of thinking the whole situation over. She now realised that it would be far more impossible to say at breakfast next day: "By the way I quite forgot to tell you that Michael Strange was there too."
But on one point her mind was made up. Unless he gave some explanation of his conduct he could not expect her to go on blindly trusting him. She would see him without fail next day, and demand to know what he was doing in the Priory grounds at that hour.
On this resolve she at last fell asleep. When she awoke next morning she did not feel quite as guilty as she had the night before. After all, she thought, if Strange refused to explain himself, it would not be too late to inform the others, and she had no doubt she would be able to think out some plausible reason for not having done so before.
To the questions that Charles and Peter put to her during breakfast she returned perfectly composed replies, but when she learned that they intended to put the matter now into the hands of the County Police she rather changed colour. If a police-inspector were to question her it would be very difficult to know how to answer him. Like most people who have never had any dealings with it she had a somewhat nervous dread of the Law, and a hazy idea that you got had up for not telling the police all you knew. However, it was no good meeting your troubles half-way, and the main thing now was to tackle Michael Strange.
Mrs. Bosanquet, in spite of her own terrifying experience, was quite annoyed to think that Margaret and not she had encountered the Monk. She told Margaret she had missed a great opportunity, and when Charles made a dry reference to the manner in which she had greeted the opportunity when it came to her, she said severely that there were some things that were better forgotten. She was happy in the possession of her planchette, and she proposed that they should have a sitting that very evening.