The Colonel laughed heartily, the boys chiming in with a merry peal.
"What were the cigars?" asked Phil.
"The strongest Havanas that were made,—that was all. Fine cigars, I have no doubt; but I was forty years old before I touched tobacco again, and I have never smoked anything less delicate than a Manilla."
He puffed in silence, chuckling to himself now and then; the boys meditated on the tale they had heard.
"Colonel Ferrers," said Gerald, at last.
"Yes, my boy. You are thinking that it is time to join the ladies?
Quite right; we will go in at once."
"I wanted to ask," said Gerald, "if you don't mind telling us, that is—well—I was only thinking that perhaps those cigars you offered us—were they very mild ones, Colonel Ferrers?"
The Colonel looked grave for a moment, then he gave way and laughed aloud.
"Found me out, hey?" he said. "Well, since you ask me, Master
Merryweather, I believe they were—not—the mildest that are made.
But you—hark! what was that?"
From the next room came the sound of a crash, and then a cry.