“Who came to the front door?” whispered Harry as they went along the corridor.
“Mrs. Tretheroe,” answered Valencia.
“Mrs. Tretheroe! At this time? What did she want?”
“Guy!”
“Guy? Who told her he was here?”
“Her coachman had seen him coming here.”
“Well?” asked Harry, after a pause. “What then?”
“I told her he’d gone. She went, then. Went in a hurry, too. Harry!”
“What?”
“It strikes me there’s something going on underneath these sudden reappearances. I don’t know what—but something. Mrs. Tretheroe was just mad to see Guy! And—I don’t trust her. She’s—oh, I don’t know what she is! Never mind—let’s go to bed.”