"We'll be careful enough," said I. "Let's do this. If the old chap comes—and come he will—let Tibbie bring him up here. We'll receive him in state; you'll, of course, play the part, your proper part, of chatelaine; I, of guest. You'll regret that Mr. Parslewe is away from home—indefinitely—and we'll both be warily careful to tell the old man nothing. But we'll watch him. I particularly want to see if looks for, sees, and seems to recognise the copper box. Pawley will have told him where it's kept—on that sideboard; now let's see if his eyes turn to it. He'll come!—and before long."
"Good!" she agreed. "Now, suppose he gets cross-examining us?"
"Fence with him—tell him nothing," I answered. "Our part is—Mr. Parslewe is away."
We finished breakfast; the table was cleared; we waited, chatting. And before long a loud knocking was heard at the door of the turret. Tibbie Muir, already instructed, went down to respond to it. Presently we heard ponderous footsteps on the winding stair.
