Cecil seemed struck by this view of the case.
“I never thought of that,” he said. “I suppose we ought to have issued uniform entrance-tickets, or something of that sort; but the thing never crossed any of our minds. Somehow, it seems a bit steep to take precautions against people when one’s inviting them to one’s house.”
“It’s not invited guests I’m thinking about,” Sir Clinton hastened to explain more definitely. “This affair must have been talked about all over the countryside. What’s to hinder some enterprising thief dressing up as a tramp and presenting himself along with the rest? He’d get in all right. And once he was inside, he might be tempted to forget the laws of hospitality and help himself. Then, if he made himself scarce before the unmasking at midnight, he’d get clean away and leave no trace. See it?”
Cecil nodded affirmatively; but to Sir Clinton’s slight surprise he did not appear to be much perturbed on the subject. The Chief Constable seemed to see an explanation of this attitude.
“Perhaps, of course, you’re shutting up the collections for the evening.”
Cecil shook his head.
“No. Joan insists on having them on view—all of them. It’s a state occasion for her, you know; and she’s determined to have all the best of Ravensthorpe for her guests. What she says goes, you know. If she can’t get her own way by one road she takes another. It’s always easier to give in to her at once and be done with it. She has such a way of making one feel a beast if one refuses her anything; and yet she never seems to get spoiled with it all.”
Sir Clinton seemed rather taken aback by the news about the collections.
“Well, it’s your funeral, not mine, if anything does happen,” he admitted.
“Maurice’s—not mine,” Cecil corrected him with a touch of bitterness which Sir Clinton failed to understand at the moment.