There fell a pause, while Sir Beverley's eyes returned to the wide oak
staircase, watching it ceaselessly, with vulture-like intentness. Then
after the passage of minutes, there came the sound of feet that literally
scampered along the corridor above, and in a moment, with meteor-like
suddenness, Piers flashed into view.
He seemed to descend the stairs without touching them, and was greeted
at the foot by Caesar, who leapt to meet him with wide-mouthed delight.
"Hullo, you scamp, hullo!" laughed Piers, responding to the dog's
caresses with a careless hand. "Out of the way with you! I'm late."
"As usual," observed Sir Beverley, leaning slowly forward, still with his
eyes unblinkingly fixed upon his grandson's merry face. "Come here, boy!"
Piers came to him unabashed.
Sir Beverley got heavily to his feet and took him by the shoulder. "Who
is that woman, Piers?" he said, regarding him piercingly.
Piers' forehead was instantly drawn by a quick frown. He stood passive,
but there was a suggestion of resistance about him notwithstanding.
"Whom do you mean, sir?" he said. "What woman?"
"You know very well who I mean," snarled Sir Beverley. "Come, I'll have
none of your damn' nonsense. Never have stood it and never will. Who was
that white-faced cat that got in my way this afternoon and helped you to
a thrashing? Eh, Piers? Who was she, I say? Who was she?"
Piers made a sharp involuntary movement of the hands, and as swiftly
restrained himself.
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