But she suddenly turned her distorted countenance full upon him.

“Sit down, boy,” she rapped out. “Do you think I’d let you go there alone, if there were fifty gardeners?”

She stared at him for a second after this with a look that seemed to turn his bodily presence into the frame of a doorway through which she gazed into the remote past.

“Sit down, sit down,” she said more gently. “I’ll be ready soon.”

The door had not closed behind her for many minutes when the elderly servant entered, carrying a silver tray, upon which was a plate of Huntley and Palmer’s oaten biscuits and a decanter of sherry. Wolf had poured himself out as many as three glasses of this excellent wine and had swallowed nearly all the biscuits before Miss Gault returned. She found him stroking Mark, the black cat.