Mary hesitated. “But it—it may not—come to anything,” she stammered. “I didn’t want to—to frighten you—”
“Rubbish!” An odd, delicately grim expression came into the little old lady’s face. “I’d rather be frightened unnecessarily than have something drop on me out of a clear sky. Out with it!” 295
Then Mary gave in and was conscious of a distinct relief in having a confident.
“It’s only this,” she said briefly. “When I went to close the back kitchen window a little while ago, I saw a—a face looking out of that little window above the harness-room. Some one’s—hiding there.”
For an instant Mrs. Archer’s delicately pretty, faded face turned quite pale. Then she rallied bravely.
“Who—who was it?” she asked in a voice not altogether steady.
“I—don’t know. It disappeared at once. But I’m sure it wasn’t imagination.”
For a moment or two her aunt sat thinking. Then she glanced quickly across the room. “Is that gun loaded?” she asked.
The girl nodded; she had ceased to be surprised at anything. For a space Mrs. Archer regarded her untouched cup of tea thoughtfully. When she looked up a bright spot of pink was glowing in each wrinkled cheek.
“It’s not pleasant, but we must face it,” she said. “It may be Pedro, or even Maria. Both of them are cowards. On the other hand it may be Lynch. There’s no use shutting one’s eyes to possibilities.”