ectly, or I'll rouse the
house. Sir Thomas is a magistrate, and will lock you up as soon as look
at you." She clutched at the bell rope as she spoke. "I'll swear I'm in
danger of my life from you and give you in charge. Yes, and when you're
in prison I'll keep you there till you die. I've often thought I'd do
it. How about the hotel robberies last summer at Cowes, eh? Mightn't the
police be grateful for a hint or two? And how about--"

The keys fell with a crash on the bed, accompanied by some bad language
in an apologetic tone, and the door slammed to. I crept trembling to
bed.

This new and horrible complication of the situation filled me with
dismay. Lord Carwitchet's wolfish glance at my rubies took a new
meaning. They were safe enough, I believed--but the sapphire! If he
disbelieved his mother, how long would she be able to keep it from his
clutches? That she had some plot of her own of which the bishop would
eventually be the victim I did not doubt, or why had she not made her
bargain with him long ago? But supposing she took fright, lost her head,
allowed her son to wrest the jewel from her, or gave consent to its
being mutilated, divided! I lay in a cold perspiration till morning.

My terrors haunted me all day. They were with me at breakfast time when
Lady Carwitchet, tripping in smiling, made a last attempt to induce me
to accompany her and keep her "bad, bad boy" from getting among "those
horrid betting men."

They haunted me through the long peaceful day with Leta and the
_tete-a-tete_ dinner, but they swarmed around and beset me sorest when,
sitting alone over my sitting-room fire, I listened for the return of
the drag party. I read my newspaper and brewed myself some hot strong
drink, but there comes a time of night when no fire can warm and no
drink can cheer. The bishop's despairing face kept me company, and his
troubles and the wrongs of the future heir took possession of me. Then
the uncanny noises that make all old houses ghostly during the small
hours began to make themselves heard. Muffled footsteps trod the
corridor, stopping to listen at every door, door latches gently clicked,
boards creaked unreasonably, sounds of stealthy movements came from the
locked-up bathroom. The welcome crash of wheels at last, and the sound
of the front-door bell. I could hear Lady Carwitchet making her shrill
_adieux_ to her friends and her steps in the corridor. She was softly
humming a little song as she approach