“Sir,” she said, with something of deference. “Sir Charles Sperrigoe’s compliments, and he awaits your pleasure in the morning-room.”
XII
The Palkeney Motto
IT was characteristic of Parslewe that he deliberately finished what he was telling us about Queen Elizabeth and her visit to Palkeney before he made any move in the direction of Sir Charles Sperrigoe. I am afraid we only heard a half of what he said; we were both conscious that what we might hear downstairs was certain to prove of far greater interest than anything Parslewe could tell us about the sixteenth century. Personally, I felt a throb of excitement when at last he turned away from the queer old chamber in which we stood.
“Well, come on!” he said, “I suppose we must see this chap and clear things up. Didn’t she say the morning-room?”
He seemed to know where that was well enough, and led the way straight to it; its door was slightly open, and as Parslewe threw it wide we became aware of Sir Charles, posted on the hearth, his large face turned expectantly towards us. Its expression was severe, pompous, and non-committal, but it changed with startling rapidity as his eyes fell on Parslewe. He almost jumped, indeed—moved, recovered himself, gasped.
“God bless my soul!” he exclaimed. “My dear sir, surely we have met before?”
Parslewe laughed sardonically.
“Aye, surely!” he answered, in his most casual fashion. “Neither of us difficult to recognise, I should think, Sir Charles. And I understand you’ve met these young people before, too?”
Sir Charles hastened to acknowledge us—perfunctorily; it was evident that we were very unimportant factors in the situation compared to Parslewe, upon whom his eyes were fastened with strange interest.
“I have had that pleasure,” he said. “But you, my dear sir—we met, one night, some—is it two, or is it three years ago?—at the Crown, in our neighbouring town, where, I believe, you are now staying? I remember our conversation—instructive and—and enjoyable. Dear me! But I never knew your name.”