A silence supervened, while we stared at her and she read the message to the very end. When she was through, her clear blue eyes were bright with exultation.
“Yes, it’s what I expected! I think, people, that we will see the end of our ghastly bewilderment to-night. Won’t you be glad? Oh, I will!”
Mrs. Belvoir, aware that she was likely to lose the post of cynosure, countered vaguely. “What do you mean?” she repeated. “I haven’t finished—”
“You won’t need to, Marvel dear. I have found a better way to deal with the malignant spirit you spoke of. I have Mr. Salt’s approval for what I do. In fact”—she smiled slightly—“I am his deputy.”
Lord Ludlow’s eyebrows gave a jerk. “His deputy?”
“Yes, and I believe I am to have a Police-Constable to enforce my authority. And the—the Frenchwomen from the farm, the Delambres, have kindly consented to be present here to-night as witnesses.”
“Well, I’ll be damned,” said Crofts. “Will people be coming in here all night? Who owns this place, anyhow?”
Alberta struck a counter-blow. “Of course, Paula dearest, we shall do anything you like. Shall we have to wait long for those queer old women?”
“They are waiting for you,” said the American girl, standing by the door which led through the armoury into the Hall. “Will you enter, please, and take your seats as before?”
“I don’t like this,” objected Crofts, blocking our way. “In my opinion there should be no jiggery-pokery without Salt or this Scotland Yard man he was supposed to bring. Why doesn’t he do as he intended?”