Twisegood smacked his lips after a long pull at his favourite Kentish ale, and commenced:
“Well, Master Raife, there be fine times. That American gentleman, he be flying in his machine all over the place, and they do tell me that Miss Muirhead, she be a real plucked ’un, and she goes up along with him.”
Raife did not wait for any more. The demon of jealousy and hate possessed him. He rushed from the room and down the stairs, exclaiming in passionate tones: “I’ll murder the brute, in spite of his American voice.”
Old Twisegood stood mystified by this extraordinary outburst. He descended slowly, wagging his head.
Raife drove up to the main entrance of Aldborough Park, and, as he entered, met his mother, Lady Remington. In a fierce rage he approached her. “Mother! What’s that American fellow doing here? He’s got to go—and go at once.”
Lady Remington was alarmed at her son’s agitation, and endeavoured to pacify him, saying: “Raife, what’s the matter with you? You look positively deranged.”
They went up the staircase together, and the old lady endeavoured to pacify her son. They entered the library, and, with all the tact and patience at her command, she tried to soothe his wounded feelings. It seemed to her that some terrible streak of ill-fortune had entered into her life, and that of her unfortunate son.
He rang the bell viciously for Edgson. No one else would have answered the noisy peal that indicated the master’s rage. When he appeared, Raife demanded: “Where is Mr Brookman?”
The butler replied, with deference: “I think he’s in the croft, Sir Raife, with his flying-machine.”
In sharp tones, that were unfamiliar to the old servant, he rasped out: “Where is Miss Muirhead?”