"But if you're all going to sit I shall have to," Celia said. "I couldn't stay by myself while you conjured up ghosts. I should die of fright."
"I have been told," remarked Mrs. Bosanquet, "though I must say I never experienced anything of the sort myself, that sometimes the spirits actually lift tables off their legs, and give one quite hard knocks to manifest their presence."
"In that case," said Charles, "you can count me out. I'm not going to sit and allow myself to be buffeted about in this or any other cause."
"I think," Mrs. Bosanquet replied, "that we are unlikely to get any results at all if you approach the subject in a spirit of levity."
When breakfast was over Charles and Peter went off to see what could be done about hauling the car out of the ditch. They had no sooner gone than Margaret announced her intention of cycling into the village to buy darning-silk. Celia seemed inclined to accompany her, but since she had promised to go for a sedate walk with Mrs. Bosanquet, she had to give up the idea. She wrote out a list of groceries to be ordered at the village store, and said that she and Mrs. Bosanquet might stroll to meet Margaret on her way home.
Margaret's first house of call was not the village store, but the Bell Inn. She inquired of the porter whether Mr. Strange was in, and while he went to find out, she sat down in the lounge, and watched two rather nondescript females collect their sketching paraphernalia preparatory to setting out. They eyed her with the usual faint air of hostility displayed to one another by most English people, and after ascertaining that they had not forgotten the sandwiches or the camp-stools, or the thermos, soon left her in sole possession of the lounge.
She had not long to wait before the door at one end of the lounge was opened, and Michael Strange came briskly into the room. He did not seem surprised to see her, but said without preamble: "I'm sorry to have been so long, Miss Fortescue: I was just finishing my breakfast. Won't you sit down?"
"I hope I didn't interrupt you," she said stiffly.
"Not at all. It's a disgraceful hour at which to be breakfasting in any case. But I had a very late night."
Margaret fairly gasped. Of all the cool, calm cheek! she thought. She remained standing, and looking him squarely in the face, said: "Mr. Strange, I think you must know why I've come to see you this morning."
The hint of a smile touched his mouth. "I can guess," he said. "I wish you hadn't seen me last night, but you did, and the mischief's done."
Her heart sank. "Then you are the Monk!" she cried sharply.
His brows seemed to snap together over the bridge of his nose. He looked quickly round, and said quietly: "Please don't raise your voice. You don't know who may be listening."
"I don't care," she said.
"But I do," he answered, and moved softly to the door and opened it.
She watched him look down the passage and go to the other door and open that too. "You probably have good reason to care," she shot at him.
"I have," he said imperturbably. He shut the door and came back into the room. "I wish youu would sit down," he said. "And just remember to keep your voice lowered." He pulled a chair forward, and reluctantly she did sit down. "Now then! I suppose if I say I am certainly not the Monk you won't believe me?"
"How can I?" she said. "I saw it last night, and it disappeared into the shadows on the same side of the avenue as you emerged from two minutes later."
He nodded. "It does look black, doesn't it? I don't think I'll waste time in trying to prove my innocence. What I do want to say is this: get out of the Priory, and get out quickly! Never mind why, but just go. I say this as one who - thinks a great deal of your safety. You saw something last night: if you stay you may see much more, and Marg - Miss Fortescue, believe me, I don't want you to run even the slightest chance of getting hurt or frightened."
He spoke with such evident sincerity that she found herself saying in a much friendlier tone: "Mr. Strange, can't you explain yourself? You must see that I can't possibly believe you when you won't - give me any reason for your conduct."
"I can't!" he said. His hand opened and shut. "You mustn't ask me, Miss Fortescue. I'd give anything to be able to take you into my confidence, but it's impossible. For one thing I - well, it's no good: I daren't tell you."
"Daren't?" she repeated. "You are afraid that I should give you away?"
He did not answer for a moment. Then he laid his hand on hers, and clasped it. "Look here, I've undertaken something, and come what may I must carry it through," he said. "When I took it on I didn't bargain for you, but I can't let you make any difference. Only I wish to God you'd clear out of the Priory!"
She withdrew her hand. "Then I am right in thinking that all along you've wanted to get us out of the house?"
"Yes, I have wanted to."
"Why?" she said directly.
"I've told you. It's not safe, and I can't be answerable for what may happen."
"It is not by any chance because our presence interferes with what you are doing?"
"It does interfere, but that is not why I'm so anxious you should go. Miss Fortescue, I don't think there's much I wouldn't do for you, but if you persist in remaining at the Priory I can't guarantee your safety. Do you understand? You'll be running a risk of — danger, and I can't stop it, and I might not be able to help you. And God knows if anything were to happen to you…' He broke off.
She found herself saying: "Well?"
He looked quickly towards her. "I think you must know what I - what I feel about you," he said.
Her eyes fell. "I only know that you don't trust me, though you expect me to trust you," she answered, almost inaudibly.
"It isn't that I don't trust you, but I can't tell you - Oh, damn it all, why did I ever take this on?" He got up abruptly, and began to pace up and down the room.
She watched him in silence for a moment. He was frowning, and when he frowned he did look rather sinister, she thought. "Have you considered that if - that if you think… Have you considered that you might give it up?" she said, stumbling badly.
"No!" he threw over his shoulder. "Not that it would be any good if I did."
There was another short silence. Margaret tried again. "Is what you're doing of such vital importance?" she asked.
"Yes, of vital importance." He came back to her side. "Margaret, if I were at liberty to take you into my confidence I would, but too much hangs on it. I can't do it. I know things look black: they are black, but will you believe that it's not what you think?"
"I don't know quite what to think," she said.
"You've seen me in some odd circumstances, you've seen me do things that look more than suspicious. I don't deny it, and I may have to do things that will seem far more suspicious. But I swear to you I've a good reason for all I do, even though I can't tell you what it is. Margaret, I've no right to ask you, as things are, but will you try and trust me a little longer? Will you trust me sufficiently to do as I beg of you, and leave the Priory till I've finished the job I've undertaken?"
She found it hard to meet his eyes, and felt a wave of colour rise in her cheeks. "Even though I - said yes, my brother and brother-in-law wouldn't go."
"If you can't persuade them they can take their chance," he said. "But will you go? You and your sister, and your aunt?"
She shook her head. "No, I can't do that. You couldn't expect me to go away and leave my brother in danger. And nothing would induce Celia to leave Charles."
He said impatiently: "Good God, haven't you had enough happen in that house to make you see the only thing to do is to clear out?"
At that she looked up. "What do you know about anything that has happened at the Priory?" she asked gravely.