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Updated: May 27, 2025
I was peering westward towards the rolling obscurity of hills and woods that were just beginning to bulk out of the gloom, when I heard the click of the door latch. I should not like to be put in the witness-box and cross-examined by Jervaise as to my reason for entering the house with him that night.
I felt that I could stand no more of him, and I was trying to frame a sentence that would convey my opinion of him without actual insult, when Frank Jervaise looked in at the door. He stared at us suspiciously, but his expression commonly conveyed some aspect of threat or suspicion. "Been looking all over the place for you," he said. "For me?" Hughes asked. Jervaise shook his head.
Her features were good, her complexion, her colouring she was something between dark and fair but she did not rely on those things for her beauty. It was the glow of her individuality that was her surpassing charm. She had that supremely feminine vitality which sends a man crazy with worship. You had to adore or dislike her. There was no middle course. And Jervaise quite obviously adored her.
Jervaise's face came out as a presentable whole, my memory of his wife delivers the hawk nose as the one salient object of what is otherwise a mere jumble. Old Jervaise certainly looked the more aristocratic of the pair, but Mrs. Jervaise was a woman of good family. She had been a Miss Norman before her marriage one of the Shropshire Normans.
I pointed it out to Jervaise who was holding his head down as if he were afraid the summer rain might do some serious injury to his face. "Some one up, anyway," was his comment. "Very far up," I murmured. I could not quite believe, even then, that it could be a window.
John said something in that too discreet voice of his, and then Jervaise scowled and looked round at the ascending humanity of the staircase. His son Frank detached himself from the swarm, politely picked his way down into the Hall, and began to put John under a severe cross-examination. "What's up now, do you suppose?"
I had practically promised Banks not to say that I had seen him on Jervaise Clump at five o'clock that morning, and I was not the least tempted to reveal that important fact to Miss Tattersall. I diverted the angle of our talk a trifle, at the same time allowing my companion to assume that I agreed with her conclusion.
I had already begun to feel a liking for Anne's brother, and that speech of hers settled me. I knew that "Arthur" was the right sort or, at least, my sort. I would have been willing, even then, to swap the whole Jervaise family with the possible exception of Brenda, for this as yet unknown Arthur Banks. Jervaise's diplomacy was beginning to run very thin.
"She she must be somewhere about." Ronnie, still the cynosure of the swarm, turned himself about and stared at Frank Jervaise. But it was Gordon Hughes who demonstrated his power of quick inference and response, although in doing it he overstepped the bounds of decency by giving a voice to our suspicions. "Is the car in the garage? Your own car?" he asked. "Yes. Rather.
I dare say," Jervaise agreed with his usual air of grudging the least concession. "Are you ready to go now?" he asked, addressing Banks. Banks nodded. "I'll pick up the car on the way," he said. "I'll come with you as far as the car," Brenda said, and the pair of them went out together. Jervaise stretched himself with a self-conscious air.
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