"I know it's disgustingly foolish, but—ah—I was practising on it. I've done it once or twice before since we came. And then those awful dogs—or were they wolves?—completely unnerved me. I must have lost my head. You see, I've always with me such valuable papers on my work, the destruction of which would be a loss to the whole nation——"
"It doesn't happen to be my nation," Stamford broke in coldly.
"Mr. Stamford, can I trust you?"
"That depends."
"I was going to crave that you'd take the responsibility of looking after my notes—in this room." He laughed apologetically, "In case of fire they could be saved here."
Stamford had a sudden idea.
"And your sister—does she share your fears and—and practise on the rope ladder?"
"Never, never! Fear is a matter of mind, and to Isabel is not that peculiar delicacy of mind that——"
A slight scraping sound against the side of the house stopped him. There was a dull thud on the ground, and Isabel Bulkeley came swiftly before the window.
"Mr. Stamford, I can't find my brother." She was almost as agitated as Mary Aikens had been a few minutes before. "He's not in his room——"