“Why won't it?” said I. “You know I had to give the flowers, to stop questions?”
“Yes, it ca'n't be helped,” said Sylvie: “but they will be sorry when they find them gone!”
“But how will they go?”
“Well, I don't know how. But they will go. The nosegay was only a Phlizz, you know. Bruno made it up.”
These last words were in a whisper, as she evidently did not wish Arthur to hear. But of this there seemed to be little risk: he hardly seemed to notice the children, but paced on, silent and abstracted; and when, at the entrance to the wood, they bid us a hasty farewell and ran off, he seemed to wake out of a day-dream.
The bouquet vanished, as Sylvie had predicted; and when, a day or two afterwards, Arthur and I once more visited the Hall, we found the Earl and his daughter, with the old housekeeper, out in the garden, examining the fastenings of the drawing-room window.
“We are holding an Inquest,” Lady Muriel said, advancing to meet us: “and we admit you, as Accessories before the Fact, to tell us all you know about those flowers.”
“The Accessories before the Fact decline to answer any questions,” I gravely replied. “And they reserve their defence.”
“Well then, turn Queen's Evidence, please! The flowers have disappeared in the night,” she went on, turning to Arthur, “and we are quite sure no one in the house has meddled with them. Somebody must have entered by the window—”
“But the fastenings have not been tampered with,” said the Earl.