“It’s no use, Richard,” Lady Mary said. “Now, please get down from your horse and come in. We’ll have tea. I’m sure you’re famished.”
He stared at her as though he did not know her. “Silence, woman! Into the castle! This is war — Lord Dunsten, your horse! Follow me — we’ll find them—”
Kate had not stirred from where she stood. Was this a nightmare and in the middle of the afternoon? Why did her grandfather coax Sir Richard as though he knew what it was all about? And Lady Mary—“Oh, please,” Kate moaned.
Then Sir Richard saw the three charabancs standing in the drive, and the people strolling across the terrace and into the garden. “They’re attacking again!” he screamed. “They’ve come in full force!”
Now Kate ran to his side, and suddenly she knew exactly what to do. “Sir Richard, come down off your horse. We must go into the castle, all of us quickly, and lock the great gates. You’re quite right. We are besieged.”
He looked at her uncertainly. The people in the garden stared at them but went on with their tour.
“Come, come,” Kate urged, “before they take the castle.”
He responded at once. “To the throne room then,” he shouted. “Meet me there, Lord Dunsten! Kate, help me — this sword — damned heavy — I daren’t put it down.”
She helped him dismount, Lady Mary standing by, the tears running down her cheeks, and they went into the castle, not by the great hall, filled with tourists, but by the side entrance, across the west terrace, into the library.
“Leave him to me,” Kate whispered to Lady Mary. “I’ll coax him to his room. … Grandfather, tell the people to go away again — he’s ill, tell them — they’ll have their money back—”
Wells nodded and she followed Sir Richard, taking his arm, letting him lean on her. He seemed lucid again for a moment or so she thought when they had reached his rooms.
“I’ve ridden a long way, Kate,” he said in his usual voice. “There was some urgency it seemed — only what am I doing with this great sword?”
“I’ll take it,” she said.
He looked at her with sudden wild suspicion, a look of desperate fear.
He was someone else again.
“No, no — I’ll not let it out of my hand. It’s a trick — do you think I don’t see it?”
She stood facing him, bewildered, and then to her horror, he pointed the sword at her and advanced toward her. She backed away from him until she was against the wall and could go no farther. She stared at him terrified, speechless. He stood over her, his eyes glaring under the brushy brows. Then he lowered the sword and a strange savage melancholy took the place of anger.
“My child,” he muttered. “My child — my child—”
His voice was husky, his eyes suddenly tender, and she was only the more frightened.
“Don’t,” she gasped. “Don’t hurt me!”
He shook his head, smiled, and laid the sword down on a table; then, seeming to forget her, he pressed the panel behind her. It slid back as she stepped aside. He entered the space it opened and the panel closed again. She caught her breath and then ran to find Lady Mary and tell her — tell her what? That Sir Richard had disappeared!
She found her back on the terrace, an indomitable figure of command, while Wells pushed the grumbling people into the waiting charabancs.
“The bloody aristocrats—”
“We’ll report them, never fear—”
“Castle belongs to the public now, don’t it?”
“A heap of rubble — that’s all it is.”
Kate went to Lady Mary. “Come, my dear,” she said gently. “Come and have your tea, before you die of all this.”
The dust stirred by the bases had scarcely settled when Philip Webster drove up in his small and noisy car. He was surprised to see Lady Mary with Kate beside her standing on the terrace, and Wells shaking his hands as if he could never free them of contamination.
“Then I’m not too late for tea?” Webster asked hopefully.
“No, no.” Lady Mary’s manner was always gracious when entertaining was in order. “As a matter of fact, we were just going in to make ourselves ready. It has been an unusual afternoon.”
“Are you feeling better now, Lady Mary?”
“Certainly, Philip. I’m not sure that there was ever anything wrong with me. Where have you been and what have you been doing with yourself?”
“I’ve been on the telephone for hours, Lady Mary”—he spoke rapidly, nervously—“whenever I could get David Holt off it. My, my, how long-winded an American can be! I presented our case over again to all the top people, and they promised to look into it as soon as possible, which may mean next week or next year. I say, where’s Sir Richard?”
“He is in the castle. I only hope he is all right,” Lady Mary said as she led the way inside.
Wells disappeared in the direction of the kitchen muttering something about tea, while Kate walked beside Lady Mary.
“What, what?” Webster spluttered as they walked. “Is there another mystery?”
“Let us go and find him,” Lady Mary said.
Kate spoke. “I think he’ll be in his room, my lady.”
“What about tea?” Webster complained.
They were deaf to the complaint and he could only follow Lady Mary and Kate. Somewhere along the passage Wells joined them unobtrusively. The door to Sir Richard’s room was closed but not locked, and Kate opened it. Across the room the panel stood open again. Sir Richard had come back — ah, for the sword! It was gone from the table.
Lady Mary turned to Webster, her face gray, her voice cold. “Did you know about this panel, Philip?”
“Yes,” Webster said. “It was his father’s idea. This was always his room, you know, but when he died Sir Richard moved into it.”
“I never knew that,” Lady Mary said. “Nor did I know about this — this exit. Where does it lead?”
“To the east tower room,” Webster replied. “I was there once. As a matter of fact, his father died in that room.”
“That, too, I did not know,” Lady Mary said.
“I knew, my lady,” Wells put in. “I was there when he died. So was Sir Richard — a very young man he was then. The death came all of a sudden. His father was sitting in the big oaken chair that’s still in the room. They were looking at a book — a biggish book, very old. It tells about the castle. Suddenly his father gave a loud sigh and fell forward, his head on the book. It was a fearful shock, though we knew his heart was bad ever since he was wounded so grievous. In the war. At Liège. He’d been joking with Sir Richard — the two of them were very close — almost mysterious — and he’d just said something about his son, the prince, and he raised his arm and waved an old silk flag that was folded into the book — Sedgeley coat of arms it was on the flag — and he sang out something like ‘The King is dead — long live the King,’ in French it was, and he was laughing. The very next minute he was dead.”
“How much I’ve never known,” Lady Mary whispered. Her white face was whiter than ever. She looked about the room vaguely. “Where is Kate? Tell her I–I—I must—”
“Here I am, my lady,” Kate said, alarmed. “Shall you go back to your own room, dear?”
Lady Mary shook her head. “No. We must find him … in there. …”
She pointed to the open panel and again led the way, now into the passage beyond, Webster on one side, Kate on the other and Wells behind. They walked in silence up the ascending way until Wells spoke. “There was stairs here once, my lady, but his father — Sir Richard’s father — had them made into a ramp, so he could walk more easy-like.”
No one replied. They walked on until they came to the end, winding their way through the tower until they reached the closed door at the top.