“There is a secret drawer here. I wouldn’t show it to everyone—but you are flesh of my flesh.”
“Not yet.”
“In six weeks.”
“Show me the secret drawer.”
“Wait a bit; it wants humoring. This is a home-made bureau. My great-grandfather was a clever old chap, wasn’t he? I’ve heard my father say that when he died the drawer was overhauled for money, but all they found was three farthings of the year 1732. Here they are.”
The long shallow drawer was open. Bank notes were lying flat and crisp in it; in one corner were the farthings, spotted with verdigris.
A shadow passed across the window again. Edred put his handsome, insouciant face through the tangle of white blossom and green:
“Aren’t you two coming out?” he cried chaffingly. “The moon’s up, and I never heard the nightingale in better form. I’ll run over to Turle in the morning.”
Pamela flitted across the dusky room.
“We are coming—in a moment,” she said in a loud voice, looking at him significantly; then looking back in the gloom at Jethro—burly and well-favored—by the open bureau, with its shallow secret drawer and pigeon-holes full of bills.