“No good at all,” cried Dolff. “He has always a new cock-and-bull story. He is no good.”
“And none of you in the house saw anything?” Meredith said.
“Well, Charley, it was night. There was nobody at the window; and, had there been, they could have seen nothing. We did not even hear much. It must all have been done very quickly. My dears,” cried Mrs. Harwood, with a shiver, “how can we be thankful enough! You might have been killed, Charley. A minute more, and they say there would have been no hope.”
Even Meredith was respectful enough to be silent for a moment. But he resumed immediately,
“It is strange that no one should have seen anything. I should have thought—And who opened the door? Did anyone ring to get in? How was it? Perhaps that would help me to pull my thoughts together. Some one must have rung the bell; some good Samaritan.”
“No. It was Vicars who heard something, and ran to see what it was,” said Gussy. “Vicars is very quick-eared. He runs whenever there is any commotion.”
“Ah!” said Meredith again.
He put up his hand once more to cover his eyes, and under his regard Janet for the first time broke down. She got up hastily and threw her work from her.
“Shall I make the tea, Mrs. Harwood?” she said, in a trembling voice.
“Poor Janet,” said Mrs. Harwood. “She has never quite got over it. It made such an impression upon her nerves.”