Sanchia let them run, so the distorted tale was pieced together. At a quarter to twelve--it must have been that, because Emma heard the stableclock chime the half-hour--Struan was seen in his blacks. He came out of the wood-house, an ashplant in his hand. “Apes and tigers, apes and tigers,” from Mrs. Benson--his face was dreadful to see. Who said so? Who saw him? Not Minnie, for sure. It was Bella the laundrymaid--she saw him from the window, and had a turn. The window was open. “Why, Struan,” she said--but he told her to shut mouth and eyes. “The less you see, and know,” he said, “the better for you.” Poor Struan, with his tragedy airs! Bella told that to Minnie, and that she would never forget it to her dying day. It turned the beer in her stomach, she said--and now she was lying down. As he went out of the yard, a cloud came over the sun, and Bella felt the chill. She had the goose-flesh all up her back. That, they say, betokens a person walking over your grave. Somewhere in England we all have our grave-ground lying green under turf. It awaits the spade and the hour. In the morning it is green and groweth up--this was Mrs. Benson's piece, but Minnie had the rest of the stage. The saddle-horse came flinging into the yard at one o'clock--no later. That's certain, because Frodsham was at his after-dinner pipe--or should have been: instead of which he came running in after him. Just about that time, or maybe a little before, Mr. Menzies had been asking for Struan? Where was he? Did anyone ever see such a wastrel? No man's account, he called him. Mrs. Benson tolled her apes and tigers all. It was Minnie had seen the Master when the bell pealed. She had gone with her heart in her mouth--and oh, his collar and tie! His red ear! She had never seen anything like his face, and never must again on this side of the tomb. Wicked, oh, wicked! He showed his teeth. His face was as white as a clout. His voice was like a nutmeg-grater. “Miss Percival--here--at once.” It was all he said. She did her bidding, for servants must--but her heart bled for Miss Percival, and she felt like fainting at any minute when she waited at luncheon. He drank brandy--jerked his head towards the sideboard when he wanted more. Never said a word. And how he ate, wrenching at his food! Fit to choke him. How she had lived through the luncheon she didn't know at all. But that Struan, that quiet in an ordinary way, should have dared--with a stick in his violent hand! And the Sergeant ready for his warrant--stiff in the hall.