His prudence had gone for the time. As he came
down upon Christabel she raised her revolver and fired two shots in quick
succession over Henson's shoulder. The noise went echoing and
reverberating along the corridor like a crackling of thunder. A door came
open with a click, then a voice demanded to know what was wrong.
"Now I guess the fat is in the fire," Christabel said.
Henson dropped into a chair and groaned. Lord Littimer, elegantly attired
in a suit of silk pyjamas and carrying a revolver in his hand, came
coolly down the corridor. A curious servant or two would have followed,
but he waved them back crisply.
"Miss Lee," he said, with a faint, sarcastic emphasis, "and my dear
friend and relative, Reginald Henson--Reginald, the future owner of
Littimer Castle!"
"So he told me, but I wouldn't believe him," said Christabel.
"It is a cynical age," Littimer remarked. "Reginald, what does
this mean?"
Henson shook his head uneasily.
"The young lady persisted in taking me for a burglar," he groaned.
"And why not?" Christabel demanded. "I was just going to bed when I heard
voices in the forecourt below and footsteps creeping along.
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