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"We'll see," he laughed; struck the match. She stepped swiftly within the door; closed it. Bob Chater laughed again; ran across. The lock clicked as she turned the key. "Let me in!" he cried, rattling the handle. "Let me in!" The splash of water answered him. He thumped the panel. "Open the door!" "Now, Angela," he heard her say, "quick as lightning with that chimmy."
Hornby and Chater exchanged glances glances of distinct uneasiness, I thought. Then the owner of the Lola said "Yes, they are useful for making arrangements and buying things in Italian ports. We have a Spaniard, a Greek, and a Syrian, all of whom act as interpreters in different places." "And make a handsome thing in the way of secret commissions, I suppose?" I laughed. "Of course.
"Certainly," replied the other; and then we began chatting about the peril of the previous night, Hornby telling me how he had copied the two letters of thanks in Italian and sent them to their respective addresses. "Phil blasphemed like a Levant skipper when he copied those Italian words!" laughed Chater.
The command to kiss their brother went by default; she hurried her charges through the door to the adjoining night nursery. When they were started upon undressing she came back. "You're going to let me see you tub them?" Bob asked her. Busy replacing toys in cupboards, she did not reply. "You're not angry, are you?" She gave him no answer. Bob Chater discarded the laugh from his tone.
The two smart stewards served in a manner which showed them to be well trained to their duties, and as the evening light filtering through the pale blue silk curtains over the open port-holes slowly faded, we gossiped on as men will gossip over an unusually good dinner. From his remarks I discerned that, contrary to my first impression, Hylton Chater was an experienced yachtsman.
What actually transpired can only be surmised, yet it seems that Leithcourt was in the habit of going up to that spot and loitering there in the evening in order to meet Chater in secret, as the latter was in hiding in a small hotel in Dumfries. Therefore those who formed the plot must have endeavored to throw suspicion upon Leithcourt.
Chater, startled at the novelty of being drawn into table conversation while his son and his wife were present, dropped his spoon with a splash into his soup, wiped his coat, frowned at the parlour-maid, cleared his throat, and, to gain time to determine whether he had courage to say that which was burning within him, threw out an "Eh?" for his pursuing wife to Worry. Mrs.
She cried: "Oh, why will you speak like that? I mean that in any case it is not right. I promised." Bob laughed. "If that's all, it is all right. You didn't promise for me." "It makes no difference. You say you are sorry I believe you are sorry. You can only show it one way. Mr. Chater, please leave me alone." Her pretty appeal was fatal to her desire. It enhanced her graces.
Such brutal murders as that of Chater in 1748, which crime was expiated at Chichester, were rare. The professionals were nearly all men of substance and standing in the land.
Her agitation, as her mind cast back over the events of the previous night, was enhanced by the suddenness of the change from the sunshine in which she had been disporting to the darkness that now swept upon her. She was as a girl who, singing along a country lane, is suddenly confronted from the hedgeside by some ugly tramp. She said, "You know that young Mr. Chater?"