"You don't intend fighting the fact of your absence,
do you?" demanded Larry, after a long silence.
"Of course not!" I replied quietly. "Pickering was
right on my heels, and my absence was known to his
men here. And it would not be square to my grandfather,
-who never harmed a flea, may his soul rest in
blessed peace!-to lie about it. They might nail me for
perjury besides."
"Then the quicker we get ready for a siege the better.
As I understand your attitude, you don't propose to
move out until you've found where the siller's hidden.
Being a gallant gentleman and of a forgiving nature,
you want to be sure that the lady who is now entitled to
it gets all there is coming to her, and as you don't trust
the executor, any further than a true Irishman trusts a
British prime minister's promise, you're going to stand
by to watch the boodle counted. Is that a correct analysis
of your intentions?"
"That's as near one of my ideas as you're likely to
get, Larry Donovan!"
"And if he comes with the authorities,-the sheriff
and that sort of thing,-we must prepare for such an
emergency," interposed the chaplain.
"So much the worse for the sheriff and the rest of
them!" I declared.
"Spoken like a man of spirit. And now we'd better
stock up at once, in case we should be shut off from our
source of supplies. This is a lonely place here; even
the school is a remote neighbor. Better let Bates raid
the village shops to-morrow. I've tried being hungry,
and I don't care to repeat the experience."
And Larry reached for the tobacco jar.
"I can't imagine, I really can't believe," began the
chaplain, "that Miss Devereux will want to be brought
into this estate matter in any way. In fact, I have heard
Sister Theresa say as much. I suppose there's no way
of preventing a man from leaving his property to a
young woman, who has no claim on him,-who doesn't
want anything from him."
"Bah, these women! People don't throw legacies to
the birds these days. Of course she'll take it."
Then his eyes widened and met mine in a gaze that
reflected the mystification and wonder that struck both
of us. Stoddard turned from the fire suddenly: "What's that? There's some one up stairs!"
Larry was already running toward the hall, and I
heard him springing up the steps like a cat, while Stoddard
and I followed.
"Where's Bates?" demanded the chaplain.
"I'll thank you for the answer," I replied.
Larry stood at the top of the staircase, holding a
candle at arm's length in front of him, staring about.
We could hear quite distinctly some one walking
on a stairway; the sounds were unmistakable, just as
I had heard them on several previous occasions, without
ever being able to trace their source.