For my part, I looked first at Maryvale’s stooped retreating bulk, and then at the other two men, who solemnly looked at me. We did not speak, but the same thought must have been in all of us. The servants might understandably be shy of strange forms in the dark, but what was to become of us, if we began gravely to discuss wee grey-bearded men with voices like honey, or pixies perched on toadstools?
Young Bob Cullen had strayed to the window, was watching the raindrops, now meandering slowly, now darting down the pane.
“Talk about Noah’s Flood,” he growled.
“Forty days he had of it,” mused Lib Dale. “If this keeps up forty minutes more, I’ll be dotty. Oh, look!”
The whole conservatory thrilled with light. A golden-green path lay shimmering across the lawn. It had ceased to rain.
XIII.
The Weapon
Suddenly, and very softly, Superintendent Salt was among us once more. I knew of his presence only when I heard him speak.
“My Lord, one more question, if you please. The man—Soames I believe his name is—who has just conducted me to the cellars says you gave him a letter to post last evening.”
“I did—confound him! I handed it to him and expressed a wish that if the storm should cease as suddenly as it commenced, it might reach New Aidenn in time to go out in this morning’s post. Of course, when the downpour showed no sign of abating, I had it back.”
“I presumed so, my Lord. In that case, I shall have to see the letter, with your permission.”