Mrs. Caistor Scorton entered the room, but it was evident that she would have stayed away had she dared to do so. It was a very different Mrs. Caistor Scorton from the one who had so calmly given her damning evidence against Eileen a few nights earlier. An air of bewilderment was still on her face; and Westenhanger saw that she was puzzled by his summons and uncertain as to its meaning. Quite obviously she was afraid, and afraid of something which she could not define even to herself. She walked across the room and seated herself with her back to the light. Westenhanger avoided looking in her direction.
“Just as I thought,” he reflected. “She has no notion that she’s been spotted; but the general complexity of the affair is giving her the jumps. She’ll brazen it out if she can, when it comes to the pinch. Lucky I was careful.”
Rollo Dangerfield followed close on Mrs. Caistor Scorton’s heels. As he entered, he shot a glance at Westenhanger from under his white eyebrows, a glance in which doubt seemed to mingle with a certain hostility.
“He doesn’t like being dragged into this affair,” was Westenhanger’s interpretation. “I suppose it jars on his notions about the code of a host. I can’t help his troubles, though. He’s got to go through it with the rest. We must get rid of that woman to-day, and he ought to be put on his guard in case he ever thinks of bringing her down to Friocksheim again.”
Freddie Stickney lounged into the room a few minutes later. At the sight of the assembly, his eyebrows rose momentarily and he glanced inquisitively from one to another as though he hoped to discover from the faces the secret of the meeting. Westenhanger curtly invited him to sit down. He augured little good from Freddie’s presence, and was inclined to blame Eileen for having dragged the creature into the affair at all. But then, remembering that she probably wanted Freddie to see the final clearing-up of the affair, so as to leave him no chance for tittle-tattle, Westenhanger had to admit to himself that she was right in her choice.
Almost at once, Eileen and Cynthia came through the door together. Cynthia looked round the room in some surprise. Eileen had evidently brought her there without explanation.
“Who’s in the chair this time?” she inquired languidly, when she had inspected the company. “You, Mr. Westenhanger? Well, that’s a relief!”
She and Eileen chose seats near Mrs. Brent. The gathering now seemed complete, and Westenhanger was about to begin, when the door opened again. Eric Dangerfield came into the room. It was evident that he had not been summoned like the others, and that he had no idea of what was afoot. He seemed wrapped in a brown study, for when he raised his head and caught sight of the company, he was obviously surprised. He made no comment, however; but Westenhanger saw him glance swiftly round the group until he picked out his uncle. Eric’s face was glum, and the message which his eyes telegraphed was evidently unsatisfactory, whatever its purport. Old Rollo’s expression showed that the silent communication had taken him completely aback. Incredulity, followed by something like dismay, flashed for an instant across his features before being effaced by the return of the old man’s normal expression of aloofness. Westenhanger was at a loss how to interpret the incident. Eric, having delivered his message to his uncle, looked again at the company and then seated himself in the nearest vacant chair. He seemed to be brooding over some problem which puzzled him, and he appeared to pay little attention to Westenhanger’s opening words.
“I think we’re all rather blasé of these meetings, by now,” Westenhanger began. “It’ll be a relief to you to know that this one is positively the last. Most of us have had evidence of sorts dragged out of us on one pretence or another. It seems a pity to be out of the fashion, so I’ll give you mine. And that will finish the business.”
Mrs. Caistor Scorton shifted slightly in her chair; but Westenhanger could make nothing of her face. If anything, she seemed more bewildered than ever.