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 appeared only too evident that the two old friends were again on the verge of one of their distressing fallings-out: but Jane Hubbard intervened once more. This practical-minded girl disliked the introducing of side-issues into the conversation. She was there to talk about burglars, and she intended to do so.
"For goodness sake stop it!" she said, almost petulantly for one usually so superior to emotion. "There'll be lots of time for quarrelling to-morrow. Just now we've got to catch these…."