On Wednesday night, yes, last night, Eleanor came into my bedroom at about half-past twelve and—and wanted to stay there! I thought it was a ghost at first. I had terrible difficulty in getting rid of her. In fact, I had to get out of bed and shove her outside and lock the door. Choice, isn’t it?’ After a long time, during which they resumed their measured pacing round the lawn, Mrs Bradley spoke: ‘Of course you will lock your door tonight,’ she said. ‘You bet I shall,’ said Bertie fervently, ‘and nothing short of the house catching fire is going to persuade me to open it.’
