‘Where’s he now?’ She knew, knew there was something, had known it all along.
‘Up there, somewhere.’ Margaret made a little gesture of helplessness. ‘Coming down, perhaps.’
‘We must all get out of the way then. Lock ourselves in somewhere.’
‘He might set fire to the place. He’s tried to do that before.’
‘They can prevent him. Three of them.’ Gladys looked towards the men, and then, moved by a common impulse, they both hurried across. They felt the whole house pressing down upon them.
‘Even if he’s as bad as all that,’ Sir William was saying, ‘the three of us can down him.’ He was quite cool, and evidently—rather to their surprise—a man of courage. But then no imagination was harrying him. He didn’t see the whole fabric of sense and security shredding, rotting away.
‘But there’s Morgan; don’t forget him,’ Philip replied. ‘I’ve had a tussle with him already and was lucky enough to trip him. He was a bit slow and silly, of course. But he’s as strong as a bull. I don’t know what sort of state he’s in now, but he might be as bad as the lunatic—worse.’
‘If the worst came to the worst,’ Sir William said, ‘we could all clear out. In fact the best thing we can do is to get out of the way.’
‘You’re forgetting what Waverton said,’ Penderel put in. ‘I mean about him setting fire to things. This old place’d burn easily, wouldn’t it?’ He looked at Philip.
‘I should think it would. It’s full of rotten old timber. That’s the danger. If he gets down here, left to himself, he could set the whole place going in a jiffy.’