“About Gabriel and himself. My nephew Wutherwood and my nephew Charles. I was so terrified that it would come to this.”
“To what?”
“Even now,” said Lady Katherine, “after this has happened, I still hope that Gabriel may soften.”
Across Alleyn’s thoughts ran a horrible phrase: “Gabriel shall grow hard and Gabriel shall grow soft.” He pulled himself together, reassorted Lady Katherine’s series of remarks and thought he began to see daylight.
“Of course,” he said, “you left before — I mean when you left, Lord Wutherwood was still living.”
“What did you say?”
“I’m afraid,” roared Alleyn, changing his course again, “I have bad news for you.”
“Very bad news,” agreed Lady Katherine with one of those half-knowledgeable phrases by which the deaf bewilder us. “Very bad indeed.”
Alleyn threw all delicacy overboard. He placed his face on a level with Lady Katherine’s and shouted, “He’s dead.”
Lady Katherine turned very pale and clasped her hands together. “No, no!” she whispered. “You didn’t say — dead? Did you? I don’t hear very well and I thought — Please tell me. It wasn’t that?”