“My God!” said Lord Lundie in horror.
The chase reverberated over our heads, from the attics to the first floor and back again. Bodies and Voices met in collision and argument, and once or twice the organ hit walls and doors. Then it broke forth in a new manner.
“He's playing it,” said Jimmy. “I know his acute Justinian ear. Are you fond of music?”
“I think Lord Lundie plays very well for a beginner,” I ventured.
“Ah! That's the trained legal intellect. Like mastering a brief. I haven't got it.” He wiped his eyes and shook.
“Hi!” said Penfentenyou, looking through the stained glass window down the garden. “What's that!”
A household removals van, in charge of four men, had halted at the gate. A husband and his wife householders beyond question—quavered irresolutely up the path. He looked tired. She was certainly cross. In all this haphazard world the last couple to understand a scientific experiment.
I laid hands on Jimmy—the clamour above drowning speech and with Penfentenyou's aid, propped him against the window, that he should see.