“Mrs. Hignett! What are you doing here?”
Mrs. Hignett drew herself up stiffly.
“What an odd question, Mr. Mortimer! I am in my own house!”
“But you rented it to me for the summer. At least, your son did.”
“Eustace let you Windles for the summer!” said Mrs. Hignett incredulously.
Jane Hubbard returned from the drawing-room, where she had been switching off the orchestrion.
“Let us talk all that over cosily to-morrow,” she said. “The point now is that there are burglars in the house.”
“Burglars!” cried Mr. Bennett aghast. “I thought it was you playing that infernal instrument, Mortimer.”
“What on earth should I play it for at this time of night?” said Mr. Mortimer irritably.
“It woke me up,” said Mr. Bennett complainingly. “And I had had great difficulty in dropping off to sleep. I was in considerable pain. I believe I’ve caught the mumps from young Hignett.”