“You disappoint me, Mr. Reeder. I am not a nervous man, but in view of what happened the other night”--he touched his injured face--“I should have felt a little safer. Hello, sweetness.” Sweetness wore a perfectly cut gown of deep crimson velvet. Mr. Reeder thought that she looked twenty-four and not a day over, and had he the courage of a lady’s man--a quality he much envied--he would have said as much. “What were you talking about?” she asked. “We were talking of guns,” said Mr. Reeder loudly, “um--revolvers.” She smiled at this. “And my husband was giving his well-known views on the sanctity of human life,” she said scornfully. Mr. Reeder smiled. “Rather I was giving a bit of my mind, my dear madam,” he said. “My dear,” broke in the host, “all this arose from a question I asked Mr. Reeder: whether he carried weapons. He doesn’t.” “I expect poor Thomas was terribly disappointed,” said Mrs. Ingham. “When he unpacked your bag he had expected to find it full of pistols and handcuffs.” She took them back to the drawing room, but either she thought it was a painful subject, or she wanted to postpone the discussion till after dinner, for she made no reference to her husband’s experience. It was Mr. Reeder who brought up that matter. They were passing through the hall on their way to the dining room-- “Which axe was it you used?” he asked. The panelled walls were entirely innocent of armour or battle axes. “We have had them moved,” said Mrs. Ingham. “It occurred to me afterwards that these dreadful people might have used the battle axe instead of my husband.” They had passed the broad stairs on which the battle between Dr. Ingham and his midnight intruders had been fought, and Mr. Reeder tried to visualize the scene. But there were occasions when his imagination failed, and this was one. The dining room had been fashioned like an Elizabethan banqueting hall in miniature. There was a big Tudor fireplace, a minstrel gallery, and he noticed with surprise that the floor was of flag-stones. “That is the original floor of the old castle,” said Mrs. Ingham proudly. “The builders unearthed it whilst they prepared the foundation, and my husband insisted that it should remain. Of course we had it levelled, and in some cases the flags had to be replaced. But it was in a marvellous state of preservation. It used to belong to the De Boisy family----” Mr. Reeder nodded. “De Tonsin,” he said gently. “The De Boisys were related by marriage, and only one De Boisy occupied the castle in 1453.” She was a little taken aback by his knowledge. “Yes, I have made a study of this place,” Mr. Reeder went on. “I am something of a student of archæology.” He beamed up and down the room approvingly. “Dirty work.” Mrs. Ingham lifted her eyebrows. “I don’t quite get you?”