Our host ejaculated, “Hardly!”
“Suggest you do, then, and everybody try to get some rest. All doors locked, windows latched. No danger now, of course—only never give temptation.”
“This way, then, if you’re for food,” bade Crofts, and led the way into the dining-room, where he himself was to make a wretched job of eating.
The conservatory emptied slowly. A few people followed Crofts; perhaps two-thirds of men make for the stairs and the cold comfort of their bedrooms. At the bottom of the well I drew Miss Lebetwood apart from Mrs. Belvoir. Then, I confess, I felt ashamed, and spoke awkwardly.
“Miss Lebetwood, forgive me if I—that is, I hope you won’t mind—if you don’t want to answer—”
Her voice was quite controlled. “Yes, what’s the matter, Mr. Bannerlee?”
“It may not have anything to do with this awful—”
“What do you want to know, Mr. Bannerlee?”
“You remember telling how Miss Mertoun—before she wandered out last night—how she said something about its being ‘his music’? Well—”
Paula Lebetwood winced and said, “You want to know what that meant?”