“Another of those things?”
Rather to his surprise, Cecil moved over to examine the little edifice, and bending down opened the door and glanced inside.
“The Fairy’s not at home at present,” he said, standing aside to let Sir Clinton look in.
Something in Cecil’s voice forced itself on the attention of the Chief Constable. The words seemed to be pointless; but in the tone there was an ill-suppressed tinge of what might almost have been malicious glee at some unexplained jest. Sir Clinton was too wary to follow up this track, wherever it might lead to. He did not quite like the expression on Cecil’s face when the remark was made; and he sought for some transition which would bring them on to a fresh subject.
“You must have some curiosities in Ravensthorpe itself, if parts of it are as old as they seem to be. Any priest’s holes, or secret passages, or things of that sort?”
“There are one or two,” Cecil admitted. “But we don’t make a show of them. In fact, even Joan doesn’t know how to get into them. There’s some sort of ‘Mistletoe Bough’ story in the family: a girl went into one of the passages, forgot how to work the spring to get out again, lost her nerve apparently, and stayed there till she died. It so happened that she was the only one of the family in the house at the time, so there was no one to help her out. Since then, we’ve kept the secret of the springs from our girls. No use running risks.”
“And even Joan hasn’t wheedled it out of you?”
“No, not even Joan. Maurice and I are the only ones who can get into these places.”
Sir Clinton evidently approved of this.
“Short of opening the passages up altogether, that seems the best thing to do. One never knows one’s luck. By the way, in an old place like this you ought to have a stock of family legends. You’ve got these Fairy Houses. Is there anything else of general interest?”