“Glad I began the work of demolition tonight,” said Hart, and, for once, his tone was serious.
“Why did you never tell me that scrap of history, Doris?” inquired Grant.
“You liked the place so much that father and I agreed not to mar your enthusiasm by recalling an unpleasant legend,” she said frankly. “Not that what I’ve related isn’t true. The record appears in a Sussex Miscellany of those years.... Oh, my goodness, can it be eleven o’clock!”
The hall clock had no doubt on the point. Furneaux pocketed the written notes regarding Ingerman, and grabbed the hat off the table. Grant, for some reason, was aware that the detective repressed an obvious reference to the last occasion on which the girl had heard that same clock announce the hour.
Furneaux would allow no other escort. He and Doris made off immediately.
When they were gone, Hart stared fixedly at an empty decanter.
“My dim recollection of your port, Jack, is that it was a wine of many virtues and few vices,” he mused aloud.
Grant took the hint, and went to a cellar. Returning, he found his crony poring over the book which, singularly enough, figured prominently on each occasion when the specter-producing window was markedly in evidence. Hart glanced up at his host, and nodded cheerfully at a dust-laden bottle.
“What is there in ‘The Talisman’ which needed so much research?” he asked.
“Some lines by Sir David Lindsay, quoted by Scott,” was the answer.