"
"Never more than five feet four, I'll swear. But I wouldn't have missed
this for a pension. I have a revolver in my hip pocket, of course. One
would feel lonely without it, even in England. But I hope you can stage a
few knives and daggers, and a red light. I can cut masks out of a strip
of black velvet. That girl will have a piece stowed away somewhere."
The two entered the dining-room study, where the table was now laid for
dinner. Furneaux was seated on the edge of a chair in the darkest
corner. His eyes gleamed at them strangely.
"Can you trust Bates?" he said to Grant.
It was a wholly unexpected question, and Grant answered sharply:
"Of course, I can."
"Tell him to make sure that no one trespasses on your lawn between now
and ten o'clock. Close that window, draw the blind and curtains, and
block that small window, the one through which you saw the ghost."
"Ye gods!" cackled Hart ecstatically.
"Why all these precautions?" demanded Grant, rather amused now.
"I'm supposed to be on the very verge of arresting you, and it would
weaken the faith of my allies if I were seen drinking your wines and
eating your chicken."
"By the way, how did you know I had chickens in store, and a spit on
which to roast them?"
"I looked you over at five-thirty this morning, having traveled from
London by the mail train.
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