‘Well, I’ll tell you something.’ Sir William was emphatic. ‘That’s just what I am.’
‘Not you!’ cried Penderel. ‘And I’m not even pretending to be. I’m going to marry Gladys, that is if she’ll have me; I haven’t asked her yet. And that’s the idea.’
‘Most people’d tell you that you were either a fool or a hero,’ Sir William remarked, rather heavily. This rising tide of high spirits made him feel heavy. But he was trying to deal honestly with the youngster, who wasn’t a bad sort in his own scatter-brained fashion. ‘But I don’t say so, though you may be both for all I know. It’ll probably be the best day’s work you’ve done for a damned long time.’
‘It could easily be that and still not be up to much,’ said Penderel. ‘But I know what you mean. And I can’t help feeling——’
But there came an interruption from Gladys, who was still standing near the foot of the stairs. ‘I can hear somebody talking up there,’ she called to them.
Penderel moved a step or two in her direction. ‘That’ll be the Wavertons. They must be introspecting together on one of the upper floors, walking up and down corridors still playing Truth. And quite right too!’
Her hand went up. ‘Hush! I’m trying to listen. They’re coming down, I think. Oh! what’s that?’ They had all heard it—a kind of laugh. And now the Wavertons came running downstairs, pale and dusty and somehow rather tattered.
‘Listen, you fellows.’ Philip hurried across to the two men, and began to gasp out his news.
‘What is it?’ Gladys clutched at Margaret. ‘Tell me quick.’ Something terrible was going to happen, she knew there was. She felt sick. Everything was suddenly falling to pieces.
‘There’s a madman upstairs,’ Margaret cried jerkily. ‘Morgan’s let him out. He’s dangerous. They both are.’