“Then the friends have removed the corpse,” said Mary, putting her head in, “while you were opening the door. There! come out; you will take cold. I believe you.”
“Are you satisfied?” said Mr. Buxton to Isabel, as they went upstairs again.
“What are your outer defences?” asked Mary, before Isabel could answer.
“You shall see the plan in the hall,” said Mr. Buxton.
He took down the frame that held the plan of the house, and showed them the outer doors. There was first the low oak front door on the north, opening on to the little court; this was immensely strong and would stand battering. Then on the same side farther east, within the stable-court, there was the servants’ door, protected by chains, and an oak bolt that ran across. On the extreme east end of the house there was a door opening into the garden from the withdrawing-room, the least strong of all; there was another on the south side, opposite the front door—that gave on to the garden; and lastly there was an entrance into the priests’ end of the house, at the extreme west, from the little walled garden where Anthony had meditated years ago. This walled garden had a very strong door of its own opening on to the lane between the church and the house.
“But there are only three ways out, really,” said Mr. Buxton, “for the garden walls are high and strong. There is the way of the walled garden; the iron-gates across the drive; and through the stable-yard on to the field-path to East Maskells. All the other gates are kept barred; and indeed I scarcely know where the keys are.”
“I am bewildered,” said Mary.
“Shall we go round?” he asked.
“To-morrow,” said Mary; “I am tired to-night, and so is this poor child. Come, we will go to bed.”
Anthony soon went too. Both he and Isabel were tired with the journey and the strain of anxiety, and it was a keen joy to him to be back again in his own dear room, with the tapestry of St. Thomas of Aquin and St. Clare opposite the bed, and the wide curtained bow-window which looked out on the little walled garden.