In his relief at learning that his own escapade was not published broadcast, Trenholme had momentarily forgotten the dreadful nature of Eliza's statement. She followed him into the dining-room.
"You'll be a witness, I suppose," she said, anxious to secure details of the shot-firing.
"A witness!" he repeated blankly.
"Yes, sir. There can't be a deal o' folk who heard the gun go off."
"By Jove, Eliza, I believe you're right," he said, gazing at her in dismay. "Now that I come to think of it, I am probably the only person in existence who can say where that shot came from. It was a rifle, too. I spoke of it to the keeper and Farrow."
"I was sure something would happen when I dreamed of suffrigettes this mornin'. An' that comes of playin' pranks, Mr. Trenholme. If it wasn't for that alarm clock——"
"Oh, come, Eliza," he broke in. "An alarm clock isn't a Gatling gun. Your association of ideas is faulty. There is much in common between the clatter of an alarm clock and the suffragist cause, but all the ladies promised not to endanger life, you know."
"Anyhow, Mr. Fenley is dead as a doornail," said Eliza firmly.
"Too bad. I take back all the hard things I said about him, and I'm sure you do the same."