"From what I could gather," Peter said, "he did his best to pump Margaret. Seemed to want to find out how we were getting on here."
Charles grunted, and drew a chair up to the desk and proceeded to study a brief which had been sent on from town that morning. Peter retired into his book again, and for a long while no sound broke the silence save the crackle of the papers under Charles' hand, and the measured tick of the old grandfather clock in the hall. At last Peter came to the end of his novel, and closed it. He yawned, and looked at his wrist-watch. "Good Lord! two o'clock already! Do we sit here till breakfast-time? I've an idea I shan't feel quite so fresh to-morrow night."
Charles pushed his papers from him with a short sigh of exasperation. "I don't know why people go to law," he said gloomily. "More money than sense."
"Got a difficult case?" inquired Peter.
"I haven't got a case at all," was the withering retort. "And that's counsel's learned opinion. Would you like to go and fetch me something to eat from thee larder?"
"No," said Peter, "since you put it like that, I shouldn't."
"Then I shall have to go myself," said Charles, getting up. "There was a peculiarly succulent pie if I remember rightly."
"Well, bring it in here, and I'll help you eat it," Peter offered. "And don't forget the bread!"
Before Charles could open his mouth to deliver a suitable reply a sound broke the quiet of the house, and brought Peter to his feet in one startled bound. For the sound was that same eerie groan which they had heard before, and which seemed to rise shuddering from somewhere beneath their feet.