She shook her head.
The two men met, and moved together towards the house.
Essie looked round her in sudden panic.
“I can’t stay here,” she said. “It’s a trap. Where can I go?”
Her eyes searched the room. There was no other door in it. She looked at the narrow latticed windows. Her eyes came back to me with sheer terror in them, such as I have seen in a snared wild animal.
“You must stay here,” I said, “if you don’t want to meet him. They will reach the open door into the garden long before you could cross the hall. Stay quietly where you are, and I will tell Ted you are unwell, and are resting.”
The two men were already in the hall. I went out to them, closing the door resolutely behind me.
Rupert Maria Wenceslao di Soto, Duke of Urrutia, was a tall grave young man of few words, with close cropped hair and a lean clean shaven face.
Ted introduced him to me, and then pressed him to have some luncheon. The long table down the banqueting hall shewed an array of which Fortnum and Mason might justly have been proud.
The Duke was all courtesy and thanks, but had already lunched. His car would be here in ten minutes to take him to London. If agreeable to Mr. Hopkins he would say one word on business. He had called to modify his agent’s letter about the mantelpieces. He was willing to sell them all as agreed at a valuation, except one.