“You see,” said he to Ashton-Kirk, “there are some rare hangings—some six or seven centuries old, I understand. And they are quite well worth seeing. But my aunt is there,” and he gestured toward a door, “and I’m not at all sure that she——”
He hesitated; and the girl spoke quickly.
“She’ll be pleased to see a visitor.”
Then without waiting for a reply, she knocked upon the door and went in. In a moment she held the door wide and smiled out at the three men.
“You may come in,” she said.
Upon entering the apartment Ashton-Kirk noted that it was much more elaborately furnished than the other portions of the castle. Various periods had been called upon for luxurious fittings; costly rugs were upon the floor; magnificent paintings covered the walls; small carvings, very miracles of workmanship, were many; and the tapestries, which hung against and covered the far wall, were gorgeous examples of that ancient mystery.
“My aunt, Miss Hohenlo,” said Campe, “Mr. Ashton-Kirk.”
“I hope you’ll pardon the intrusion,” said the crime specialist.
Miss Hohenlo smiled graciously. She was a small woman, and thin, with faded brown hair and dull grey eyes. She was elaborately dressed and rather showily; about her neck hung a string of splendid jewels. Her hands were remarkably small and white and well kept; she fingered the strings of a gilt harp, and showed them delicately and to advantage.
“Indeed,” said she, “it is no intrusion. Any friends of Frederic are my friends; I try to impress that upon him. The tapestries are, of course, wonderful, and that lovers of beauty should desire to see them is, of course, to be expected.”