She had not been waiting more than a minute when three cloaked figures stealthily approached the trysting-place. They were all wearing what Jasmine hoped were only discarded hats of the Dean, and when they drew nearer she perceived that they were also wearing gaiters of the Dean. She wondered if the Dean had so many gaiters to spare for his sons' pranks, and she began to fear that some of his present wardrobe had been requisitioned. Edwy's voice, in trying to assume the appropriate bass of a conspirator, ran up to a high treble at the third word he uttered, which set his brothers off laughing so unrestrainedly that in order to conceal such an intrusion of their own modern personalities, they had to pommel each other until Edwy at last rescued his voice from the heights and called upon Jasmine to follow his lead. She, still supposing that some game of buried treasure or capture by brigands was afoot followed with appropriate caution along the winding paths of the shrubbery to that favourite haunt of mystery, the ruined tower. "Fair maiden," the eldest conspirator growled, "your betrothed awaitest you within." "You've surely never persuaded Edward to hide himself up there?" she laughed. "Edward avaunt!" he hissed. "The doom of Edward is sealed." "Sealed!" echoed Edred, more successfully hoarse than his brother. Ethelred was unable to take up his cue, being choked by laughter. "I say, do you think she ought to climb up by the rope-ladder?" Edred asked, falling back into his ordinary voice for the moment. "Shut up, you ass," replied Edwy in the same commonplace accents. "Maiden," he continued in a bass that was now truly diabolic, "the ladder of knotted sheets for thy fell purpose awaitest thee." "A terribly appropriate adjective," Jasmine observed with a smile. "I'm not really to climb up that, am I?" "No," said Edwy reluctantly. "An thou wilt, thou cannest enter by the door." "Poor Edward!" murmured Jasmine. "How he must be hating this!" "Foolish maiden," Edwy reproached her. "It is not Edward who you seekest, but one more near, no, I mean more dear, but one more dear to thee. My trusty followers and me will watch without whilst thou speaketh with him." The air of Bartelmytide was moist and chill, and Jasmine, with regretful thoughts of the Deanery fires which had just begun, hurried into the tower to finish off her part of the performance. She was not to be let off until she had mounted to the upper room, and though in the darkness the ladder felt more than usually wobbly and the stones on either side more than usually covered with cobwebs, she went boldly on, and had no sooner reached the upper room than she was aware that there was somebody there, somebody who did not greet her with the flash of a dark lantern, but with the flicker of a cigar-lighter. "Well, this is a rum way to meet you again," Harry Vibart exclaimed genially. "But...." Jasmine stammered, "I thought I told you not to come down here."