“I—­” his glance returned to her quickly, “by all means!”

She looked at him; had she detected that momentary swerving from the serious consideration of her light words?  Her own eyes turned to the window where they saw nothing but rain.  She smiled vaguely, stood with her hands behind her; it was he now who regarded her, straight, slender, lithe.  There was also something inflexible appearing in that young form, though so replete with grace and charm.

“To help pass the time!” John Steele laughed.  “I—­let us hope so.”

There had been moments in the past when she had felt she could not quite understand him; they were moments like these when she seemed to become aware of something obscuring, falling before her—­between them—­that seemed to hold him aloof from her, from the others, to invest him almost with mystery.  Mystery,—­romantic idea!  A slight laugh welled from the white throat.  In these prosaic days!

“By the way, what particular case were you discussing when I happened by?”

“Nothing very new,” answered the military man, “an old crime perpetrated by a fellow called the—­”

“Beg pardon!” A footman stood in the doorway.  “Sir Charles’ compliments to the gentlemen, and will they be good enough to join him in armory hall?”

John Steele turned quickly to the servant, so quickly a close observer might have fancied he welcomed the interruption.  “Captain Forsythe’s and Mr. Steele’s compliments to Sir Charles,” he said at once, “and say it will give them pleasure to comply.  That is,” he added, bowing, “with your permission, Miss Wray.”

She assented lightly; preceded by the girl, the two men left the room and mounted the broad stairway leading to the second story.

Armory hall was a large and lofty chamber with vaulted ceiling, that dated back almost to the early Norman period; its walls, decorated in geometrical designs, were covered with many varieties of antique weapons of warfare; halberd and mace gleamed and mingled with harquebus, poleax or lance.  At one end of the hall were ranged in a row suits of armor which at first glance looked like real knights, drawn up in company front; then the empty helmets dawned on the beholder, transforming them into mere vacuous relics.

As Steele and his companion together with Jocelyn Wray entered, sounds of merriment and applause greeted the ear; two men in fencing array who had apparently just ended a match were the center of an animated company.

“A little contest with the foils!  A fencing bout!  Good!” exclaimed Forsythe.

Jocelyn Wray walked over to the group and Forsythe followed.

“Bravo, Ronsdale!” A number of people applauded.

“He has won.  Now the reward!  What is it to be?”

“Not so fast!  Here are others.”

“True!” Ronsdale looked around with his cold smile; his glance vaguely included John Steele and Captain Forsythe.