His voice was very soothing.
Mary Trevert made a vague gesture towards the shadows about the staircase.
“There ... in the library ... he’s got the door locked ... there was a shot ...”
Then she suddenly screamed aloud.
In a stride both the doctor and her brother were by her side. But she motioned them away.
“I’m frightened about Hartley,” she said in a low voice, “please go at once and see what ... that shot ... and he doesn’t answer!”
“Come on, Doctor!”
Horace Trevert was halfway to the big screen separating the lounge from the outer hall. As he passed the bell, he pressed it.
“Send Bude to us, Mother, when he comes, please!” he called as he and the doctor hurried away.
Lady Margaret had risen and stood, one arm about her daughter, on the Persian rug spread out before the cheerful fire. So the women stood in the firelight in Hartley Parrish’s house, surrounded by all the treasures which his wealth had bought, and listened to the footsteps clattering away through the silence.