"Rats!" demurred Nicky uneasily. "I didn't make faces. I expect he's only some tourist who wants to rub brasses, or sniff a vault, or something."
"He must be a friend of Lord Kirkley's," said Ally, "because—"
"I'll show you who he is," shrilled a voice from the depth of a cupboard under the window.
Tony, who had been grubbing among a heap of tattered and dusty literature in the bottom shelf, now rose to his feet and staggered across the room carrying an ancient but valuable copy of 'The Pilgrim's Progress,' embellished with steel engravings.
Having deposited the volume upon the hearthrug he proceeded to hunt through its pages. Presently, with a squeal of delight, he placed a stumpy fore-finger upon a full-page illustration, and announced triumphantly—
"That's him!"
The picture represented Christian's battle with Apollyon. Christian, hard pressed, had been beaten to his knees, and over him towered the figure of the Prince of Darkness, brandishing a sword and (in the most unsportsmanlike manner) emitting metallic-looking flames from his stomach. The children gathered round.
"You are right, Tony," said Cilly at length, "it is like him."
Certainly Apollyon bore a sort of far-away resemblance to the late occupant of the Kirkley Abbey pew.
"Look at his eyebrows," said Nicky, "they go straight up—"