‘Well, let him, I say,’ said Gladys, viciously. ‘Let the rotten old place burn.’
‘No, that’s mad, Gladys,’ Penderel told her.
‘Besides,’ Philip added hastily, ‘there are the other Femms——’
‘Poor old Sir Roderick upstairs, unable to move,’ cried Margaret. ‘It was he who warned us, only just in time too. We can’t leave him.’
Philip and Penderel hastened to agree. Sir William looked at them and then at the stairs. ‘Well, what are we going to do, then?’ he asked. ‘Time’s going. Though nothing’s happened yet. It may be all piffle. All these people here are a bit crazy, so far as I can see.’
‘No, it isn’t.’ Margaret was vehement. ‘Didn’t you hear that horrible laugh? And Philip saw the room.’
Gladys wrung her hands. ‘I’m sure it’s true; I know it is.’ She sought out Penderel with hollowed eyes. ‘Yes, I do. I’ve felt it creeping.’ Then she recovered herself. ‘But we can do something, can’t we?’ It was addressed to him alone, wistfully; the others were nothing.
‘Of course we can,’ he told her. But he felt a sudden ache, and there followed closely upon it a growing anger.
Then they all jumped. A door had been opened, and someone was standing there. It was Miss Femm. How she came to be there, nobody could imagine, but there she was, still fully dressed, peering at them over a stump of candle. They didn’t wait for her to screech out a question. ‘Your brother’s loose!’ cried Philip, who was nearest.
‘What, Saul?’ The name went screaming up.