When she had gone, William turned his gaze to the figure in the chair. All that could be seen above the pinioned arms was a large cushion. The cushion began to move spasmodically, to shake convulsively, and to utter muffled curses. The whole figure began to writhe in its bonds. From what he could make out of the words that came from the cushion, William instinctively felt that the monologue was one that his mother would not wish him to hear. He therefore listened attentively, mouth and ears wide open. The words appeared forcible if somewhat inaudible.
Just as Mr. Graham had bent down his invisible head to try to bite the bonds round his knees through his cushion, Miss Strange, looking wild and dishevelled, returned.
"She's GONE ..." she burst out. "She's not in the house, not in any of the bedrooms.... What SHALL we do?"
At this point, with a bellow of rage, the man in the chair managed to shake off his cushion. The face that emerged was hardly human. Something violent had happened to its hair. Something violent had happened to its collar. Something violent had happened to its expression. Before he could utter anything that was in his mind, a housemaid came into the room.
"Oooo——" she said, "it's the master. They're a-murdering of him! Ooo-oo!" With which remark she fled.
"The master!" gasped Miss Strange. She turned to William, "I didn't know your father was alive." Then she turned to the figure who was obviously seeking words capable of expressing his feelings. "Where is your wife?" she ended sternly. "Miserable man, where is your wife?"
"I haven't got any wife," he shouted.
"But who wrote——?"
"I wrote," he yelled.
"Then Peter's mother——"