‘I shouldn’t think the Hun would be bad at a scrap,’ murmured Abbershaw, but at the same time he marvelled at the complacency of the old woman who could time her rescue for four days ahead and settle down peacefully to wait for it.
There was one phrase, however, that stuck in his mind.
‘Murderer?’ he said.
The old woman eyed him suspiciously and came farther into the room.
‘What do you know about it?’ she demanded.
‘We’ve told you who we are,’ said Meggie, suddenly sitting up, her clever pale face flushing a little and her narrow eyes fixed upon her face.
‘We’re visitors. And we’ve been shut up here by Mr Dawlish, who seems to have taken over charge of the house ever since Colonel Coombe had his seizure.’
The old woman pricked up her ears.
‘Seizure?’ she said. ‘That’s what they said it was, did they? The fiery furnace is made ready for them, and they shall be consumed utterly. I know it wasn’t no seizure. That was murder, that was. A life for a life, and an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, that’s the law, and they shall come to it.’
‘Murder? How do you know it was murder?’ said Abbershaw hastily. The fanatical forebodings were getting on his nerves.