Step into the trap, and all that?’

Ada stood silent a moment. ‘I don’t know, sir,’ she began quietly, ‘by
what right you speak to me about what you call my cock-and-bull
stories. If the master is mad, all I can say to _anybody_ is I’m very
sorry to hear it. I came to my mistress, sir, if you please; and I
prefer to take my orders from one who has a right to give them. Did I
understand you to say, ma’am, that you wouldn’t want me any more this
evening?’

Sheila had swept solemnly to the door. ‘Mr Danton meant all that he
said quite kindly, Ada. I can perfectly understand your
feelings—perfectly. And I’m very much obliged to you for all your
kindness to me in very trying circumstances. We are all agreed—we are
forced to the terrible conclusion which—which Mr Danton has
just—expressed. And I know I can rely on your discretion. Don’t stay on
a moment if you really are afraid. But when you say “some one” Ada, do
you mean—some one like you or me; or do you mean—the other?’

‘I’ve been sitting in the kitchen, ma’am, unable to move. I’m watched
everywhere. The other evening I went into the drawing-room—I was alone
in the house—and... I can’t describe it. It wasn’t dark; and yet it was
all still and black, like the ruins after a fire. I don’t mean I saw
it, only that it was like a scene. And then the watching—I am quite
aware to some it may sound all fancy. But I’m not superstitious, never
was. I only mean—that I can’t sit alone here. I daren’t. Else, I’m
quite myself. So if so be you don’t want me any more; if I can’t be of
any further use to you or to—to Mr. Lawford, I’d prefer to go home.’

‘Very well, Ada; thank you. You can go out this way.’

The door was unchained and unbolted, and ‘Good-night’ said. And Sheila
swept back in sombre pomp to her absorbed friends. ‘She’s quite a good creature at heart,’ she explained frankly, as if to
disclaim any finesse, ‘and almost quixotically loyal. But what really
did she mean, do you think? She is so obstinate. That maddening “some
one”! How they do repeat themselves. It can’t be my husband; not Dr
Ferguson, I mean. You don’t suppose—oh surely, not “some one” else!’
Again the dark silence of the house seemed to drift in on the little
company. Mr Craik cleared his throat. ‘I failed to catch quite all that the maid
said,’ he murmured apologetically; ‘but I certainly did gather it was
to some kind of—of emanation she was referring. And the “ruin,” you
know. I’m not a mystic; and yet do you know, that somehow seemed to me
almost offensively suggestive of—of demonic influence. You don’t
suppose, Mrs Lawford—and of course I wouldn’t for a moment venture on
such a conjecture unsupported—but even if this restless spirit (let us
call it) did succeed in making a footing, it might possibly be rather
in the nature of a lodging than a permanent residence. Moreover we are,
I think, bound to remember that probably in all spheres of existence
like attracts like; even the Gadarene episode seems to suggest a
possible _multiplication!_’ he peered largely. ‘You don’t suppose, Mrs
Lawford...?’

‘I think Mr Craik doesn’t quite relish having to break the news, Sheila
dear,’ explained Mrs Lovat soothingly, ‘that perhaps Sabathier’s _out_. Which really is quite a heavenly suggestion, for in that case your
husband would be in, wouldn’t he? Just our old stolid Arthur again, you
know. And next Mr Craik is suggesting, and it certainly does seem
rather fascinating, that poor Ada’s got mixed up with the Frenchman’s
friends, or perhaps, even, with one of the seventy-two Princes Royal. I
know women can’t, or mustn’t reason, Mr Danton, but you do, I hope,
just catch the drift?’

Danton started. ‘I wasn’t really listening to the girl,’ he explained
nonchalantly, shrugging his black shoulders and pursing up his eyes. ‘Personally, Mrs Lovat, I’d pack the baggage off to-night, box and all. But it’s not my business.’

‘You mustn’t be depressed—must he, Mr Craik? After all, my dear man,
the business, as you call it, is not exactly entailed. But really,
Sheila, I think it must be getting very late. Mr Bethany won’t come
now. And the dear old thing ought certainly to have his say before we
go any further; _oughtn’t_ he, Mr Danton? So what’s the use of
worriting poor Ada’s ghost any longer. And as for poor Arthur—I haven’t
the faintest desire in the world to hear the little cart drive up,
simply in case it should be to leave your unfortunate husband behind
it, Sheila. What it must be to be alone all night in this house with a
dead and buried Frenchman’s face—well, I shudder, dear!’

‘And yet, Mrs Lovat,’ said Mr Craik, with some little show of returning
bravado, ‘as we make our bed, you know.’

‘But in this case, you see,’ she replied reflectively, ‘if all accounts
are true, Mr Craik, it’s manifestly the wicked Frenchman who has made
the bed, and Sheila who refu—— But look; Mr Danton is fretting to get
home.’

‘If you’ll all go to the door,’ said Danton, seizing a fleeting
opportunity to raise his eyebrows more expressively even than if he had
again shrugged his shoulders at Sheila, ‘I’ll put out the light.’

The night air flowed into the dark house as Danton hastily groped his
way out of the dining-room. ‘There’s only one thing,’ said Sheila slowly. ‘When I last saw my
husband, you know, he was, I think, the least bit better. He was always
stubbornly convinced it would all come right in time. That’s why, I
think, he’s been spending his—his evenings away from home. But
supposing it did?’

‘For my part,’ said Mrs Lovat, breathing the faint wind that was rising
out of the west, ‘I’d sigh; I’d rub my eyes; I’d thank God for such an
exciting dream; and I’d turn comfortably over and go to sleep again. I’m all for Arthur—absolutely—back against the wall.’

‘For my part,’ said Danton, looming in the dusk, ‘friend or no friend,
I’d cut the—I’d cut him dead. But don’t fret, Mrs Lawford, devil or no
devil, he’s gone for good.’

‘And for my part—’ began Mr Craik; but the door at that moment slammed. Voices, however, broke out almost immediately in the porch. And after a
hurried consultation, Lawford in his stagnant retreat heard the door
softly reopen, and the striking of a match. And Mr Craik, followed
closely by Danton’s great body, stole circumspectly across his dim
chink, and the first adventurer went stumbling down the kitchen
staircase. ‘I suppose,’ muttered Lawford, turning his head in the darkness, ‘they
have come back to put out the kitchen gas.’

Danton began a busy tuneless whistle between his teeth. ‘Coming, Craik?’ he called thickly, after a long pause. Apparently no answer had been returned to his inquiry: he waited a
little longer, with legs apart, and eyeballs enveloped in brooding
darkness. ‘I’ll just go and tell the ladies you’re coming,’ he suddenly
bawled down the hollow. ‘Do you hear, Craik? They’re alone, you know.’
And with that he resolutely wheeled and rapidly made his way down the
steps into the garden.