"My dear young lady! Of course, of course, but your eyes must have deceived you. Pray take my arm! Quite impossible, Miss Fortescue. I saw no monk, and surely I must have done so had there been one."
She shook her head. "You might not. There are so many bushes. I couldn't have been deceived. I saw it plainly."
"Nerves, my dear Miss Fortescue, nothing but nerves. You must not let yourself believe in these silly ghost-tales. Why, you are quite upset by it! This will not do at all! Now I will pull the bell, and in a moment you will be inside, and quite safe."
The bell clanged noisily in answer to Mr. Titmarsh's vigorous tug, and almost at once quick steps sounded within, and Peter himself opened the door. "That you, Margaret? I began to think you must have had a — good Lord, what's the matter?"
She grasped his coat weakly, and gave a small uncertain laugh. "Oh Peter, I've seen the Monk! For goodness sake let me sit down; I feel like a piece of chewed string."
Mr. Titmarsh clucked rather like an old hen. "I saw Miss Fortescue running up the avenue, and went at once to her assistance. I am afraid she is a little over-wrought: she seems to have caught sight of something which she took for the Monk. Possibly a shrub, or even, though I should be grieved indeed to think so, myself."
Peter slipped his arm round Margaret. "Come in, sir. Very good of you to escort her. Buck up, old lady: it's all right now." He half-led, half-carried her into the library, and put her down into the nearest chair. "Like a drink, Sis? Feeling all right?"
Celia sprang up. "Margaret! What's the matter, darling? Oh, good heavens, don't say you've seen it!"
The colour was coming back to Margaret's face. She sat up. "Sorry, all of you. No, I'm perfectly all right now, Peter. Truly. Yes, I have, Celia. The Monk. And I made a dash for the house, and - and then - Mr. Titmarsh came up."
"And I am much distressed to think that I may have been the innocent cause of your alarm," Mr. Titmarsh put in. "If I had not obtained permission from your good brother-in-law to pursue my search in his grounds, I should be even more distressed."
"No, it wasn't you," Margaret said. "It was a cowled monk, just as Aunt Lilian described." She looked round. "Where is Aunt Lilian?"
"She had a headache, and went up to bed early," Celia replied. "But darling, how awful for you! Oh, we can't stay any longer in this beastly, hateful house!
"But Margaret, where's the car?" Charles asked. "Why were you on foot?"
"I ditched it," said Margaret fatalistically.
"Oh!" said Charles. "I suppose it seemed to you to be the only thing to do, but - don't think I'm criticising - why?"
This had the effect of making her laugh, and a great deal of her self-possession was restored. "I didn't do it on purpose. I made a muck of the turn at the gates, and one of the back wheels skidded into the ditch. It'll have to be pulled out. So then I had to walk up to the house. And all this happened." She got up. "I say - do you mind if I don't talk about it any more to-night? I feel a bit queer still, and I think I'd like to go up to bed."
"Of course you shall," Celia said instantly. "Don't worry her with questions, you two. Come along, darling."
At the door Margaret looked back. "Oh, I got the revolvers. They're under the back seat. I thought I'd better tell you."
"Revolvers?" said Mr. Titmarsh blinking. "Dear me, sounds very bloodthirsty. Really I do not think I should advise you to use them, Mr. Malcolm. Tut, tut, there is no knowing whom you might not shoot by mistake."
"Well I can safely promise not to shoot you by mistake," said Charles.
However, this assurance did not relieve Mr. Titmarsh's alarms. He seemed genuinely perturbed, and tried once more to convince the two men that Margaret had been the victim of a hallucination. Neither of them attempted to argue the point, and at last, after refusing the offer of a drink, Mr. Titmarsh took his leave, and made off again down the avenue.
As he shot the bolts of the front door home, Peter looked at Charles. "I think this is where we talk to the District Inspector," he said. "I still don't believe that Titmarsh is the man we're after, but his presence in the grounds at just that moment is a little too significant to be brushed aside."
Charles nodded. "All right, we'll go over to Manfield to-morrow."
It was long before Margaret fell asleep that night. She had omitted any reference to Michael Strange in her account of what happened. Until she started to tell the others all about it she had meant to keep nothing back. And then somehow or other she had left that gap, and at once had been horrified at herself for not telling the whole truth. Only the moment the words "and then Mr. Titmarsh came up' had passed her lips, it had seemed impossible to add, "but before that Michael Strange appeared, and clapped his hand over my mouth." It would look so odd not to have told that first of all. She asked instead to be allowed to go to bed, with a vague idea of thinking the whole situation over. She now realised that it would be far more impossible to say at breakfast next day: "By the way I quite forgot to tell you that Michael Strange was there too."
But on one point her mind was made up. Unless he gave some explanation of his conduct he could not expect her to go on blindly trusting him. She would see him without fail next day, and demand to know what he was doing in the Priory grounds at that hour.
On this resolve she at last fell asleep. When she awoke next morning she did not feel quite as guilty as she had the night before. After all, she thought, if Strange refused to explain himself, it would not be too late to inform the others, and she had no doubt she would be able to think out some plausible reason for not having done so before.
To the questions that Charles and Peter put to her during breakfast she returned perfectly composed replies, but when she learned that they intended to put the matter now into the hands of the County Police she rather changed colour. If a police-inspector were to question her it would be very difficult to know how to answer him. Like most people who have never had any dealings with it she had a somewhat nervous dread of the Law, and a hazy idea that you got had up for not telling the police all you knew. However, it was no good meeting your troubles half-way, and the main thing now was to tackle Michael Strange.
Mrs. Bosanquet, in spite of her own terrifying experience, was quite annoyed to think that Margaret and not she had encountered the Monk. She told Margaret she had missed a great opportunity, and when Charles made a dry reference to the manner in which she had greeted the opportunity when it came to her, she said severely that there were some things that were better forgotten. She was happy in the possession of her planchette, and she proposed that they should have a sitting that very evening.
"In the evening?" Celia said. "Not for worlds! I might summon up enough courage to sit in daylight, but not after dark, thank you!"
"I doubt very much whether we should get any results by day," Mrs. Bosanquet said dubiously. "I know that for some reason or other which I never fathomed spirits seem to find it easier to manifest themselves in the dark."
"Look here!" said Peter, "are we expected to sit round in the dark like a lot of lunatics with our hands on that board?"
"Not, I trust, like a lot of lunatics," Mrs. Bosanquet said coldly.
"I won't do it," Celia announced. "I know what it'll be. Either Chas or Peter will start pushing just to frighten us."
"What I was really thinking of," said Charles meditatively, "was appearing in a false nose and some luminous paint. But I won't if you don't care for the idea."
"Charles," said Celia quite seriously, "unless you swear to me you won't play the fool I'll walk out of this house here and now."
"My dear child," Mrs. Bosanquet said reassuringly, "if you feel any alarm it would be much better if you didn't attempt to sit at all. And of course Charles is only making fun of you."