Alan shuddered. “Well, dear, I sincerely hope that when we live at The Monastery, these uneasy spirits will take their departure. I don’t believe in ghosts; all the same, I don’t like odd noises. Marie,” he sat up suddenly as a thought struck him. “I know what you’re going to say, Alan,” she cried quickly. “What?” He looked at her sharply. “That the noises might have been made by Uncle Ran.” “Yes I did, my dear. It is just possible that he may have come back secretly to The Monastery, knowing that Moon would not search there. And a very good idea it would be if he did; safe as houses.” Marie shook her head solemnly. “No. If Uncle Ran had returned he would have let me know, since he could be certain that I would not betray him. And he would require food and drink, which would be another reason for him to let me know he was hiding. No, Alan. I tell you the cry I heard was that of a woman, and I believe that Miss Grison is in the house.” Fuller stared. “What on earth put that into your head?” “Well, she knows all the secret passages and chambers of The Monastery better than I do, since she lived there for so long before I was born. As Uncle Ran had the peacock, she may have thought that he left it behind, and may have come down to steal it. She uttered that cry I am sure.” “I don’t think so,” said Fuller scouting the idea, “She wouldn’t be such a fool, Marie. However, when we have been to Yarbury’s Bank—if the blessed place still exists, that is—we can drive to Thimble Square, and see if she is in or out of London.” “She’s out of it, and in The Monastery,” cried Miss Inderwick very decisively, “It’s no use talking, Alan, I am sure it was she I heard screaming. And if she is there—which I am sure of—she will probably let that horrid Indian into the house, so that he can take the peacock. I sha’n’t sleep there to-night, Alan, but at the vicarage, I don’t want to be murdered by that Mr. Bakche as he murdered poor——” “Marie, that is all theoretical.” “I don’t care, it is true,” insisted Marie, and although Fuller argued the point until they arrived at Victoria Station, she still held to her opinion, rather to the young man’s annoyance. He had not thought Miss Inderwick was so obstinate, and told her as much in a most provoking manner, whereat the girl pouted. Of course Alan had to kiss her into a more amiable mood and admit that he was entirely wrong, and make sundry apologies for being the most disagreeable man in the world. The two were driving along Piccadilly in a taxi, before this comedy was finished, as such comedies always do, with the subjugation of the stronger by the weaker. “And you’re quite horrid, aren’t you?” finished Marie, pinching his arm. “Quite,” admitted Alan gravely. “And I’m an angel.” “Rather; an archangel if you like!”