"You weren't," I retorted. "You only remembered about it when I said you had made no discoveries. If you had thought it was really mysterious you would have mentioned it straight off. Now do let us drop the whole thing, I'm getting tired of it." In my heart I was disappointed. I had had in reality, in spite of my warnings to him, some hopes that Moore's rashness would at least have led to _something_ in the way of discovery. And by this time I had succeeded in making him angry. "You will see," he muttered, and then as I ran off without waiting to hear more--"you will see," he called after me loudly, "if it is true that I can find out nothing. I am not such a fool as you think!" But I still ran on, half laughing to myself at his boyish indignation, and heedless of his mysterious hints. Somehow, my own curiosity and interest in the Grim House mystery had diminished as Moore's increased. "Le jeu ne vaut pas la chandelle!" I thought to myself. "It is, anyway, not worth running the risk of getting into any disagreeables, and no doubt Mr Wynyard would be very annoyed if he knew where we had been this evening." What a truism is the old saying, that "nothing is certain except the unforeseen," and yet how constantly one feels inclined to quote it to oneself even in everyday life! Two most unforeseen circumstances occurred during the first three weeks of my stay at Millflowers--Moore's joining me there, and now a sudden summons to Mr Wynyard and Isabel to go to Mr Percy's for some days. I am not perfectly clear in my memory as to the reason of it. As far as I can recall, the cause was the sudden arrival of some important member of the family from a distance. However that may have been, the fact was that our host and his daughter were practically forced to go. They were very sorry. Mr Wynyard full of apologies, declaring that his sense of hospitality was outraged by this unfortunate necessity. But they were both very thankful that my young brother was with me, otherwise, Isabel declared, that they could _not_ have left me alone, and it might have ended in my visit being curtailed. CHAPTER SEVEN. THE LOCKED DOOR. The summons from Mr Percy reached the Manor-house the very morning after the escapade which I described in the last chapter, so Moore was still rather on cold terms with me when the departure of our hosts was announced. Afterwards, though it had scarcely struck me at the time, I remembered that he had been rather silent when he heard of it, expressing but very little regret in the prospect of their absence. I recollect Isabel's turning to him and saying-- "You don't seem to mind it much, Moore; I feel rather hurt;" whereupon he grew red and said something rather confusedly about its only being for a few days; that we would manage to amuse ourselves all right, or words to that effect. But in the little bustle that ensued, the boy's peculiar manner, as I have said, made no great impression on me.