The Story Continued by Marian Halcombe

“Brought it with her? Where did she bring it with her?” “To this house.” “What the devil did Mrs. Catherick want at this house?” The manner in which he put the question was even more offensive than the language in which he expressed it. I marked my sense of his want of common politeness by silently turning away from him. Just as I moved the Count’s persuasive hand was laid on his shoulder, and the Count’s mellifluous voice interposed to quiet him. “My dear Percival!⁠—gently⁠—gently!” Sir Percival looked round in his angriest manner. The Count only smiled and repeated the soothing application. “Gently, my good friend⁠—gently!” Sir Percival hesitated, followed me a few steps, and, to my great surprise, offered me an apology. “I beg your pardon, Miss Halcombe,” he said. “I have been out of order lately, and I am afraid I am a little irritable. But I should like to know what Mrs. Catherick could possibly want here. When did she come? Was the housekeeper the only person who saw her?” “The only person,” I answered, “so far as I know.” The Count interposed again. “In that case why not question the housekeeper?” he said. “Why not go, Percival, to the fountainhead of information