E-text prepared by Suzanne Shell, Mary Meehan,
and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team
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CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
CHAPTER IV
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VII
CHAPTER VIII
CHAPTER IX
CHAPTER X
CHAPTER XI
CHAPTER XII
CHAPTER XIII
CHAPTER XIV
CHAPTER XV
CHAPTER XVI
CHAPTER XVII
CHAPTER XVIII
CHAPTER XIX
CHAPTER XX
CHAPTER XXI
CHAPTER XXII
CHAPTER XXIII
CHAPTER XXIV
CHAPTER XXV
CHAPTER XXVI
CHAPTER XXVII
CHAPTER XXVIII
"Deliver my soul from the sword, my darling from the power of thedog."—Psalms xxii, 20.
The telephone bell rang sharply in the sunlit and charming, if shabby,hall of Old Place.
To John Tosswill there was always something incongruous, and recurringlystrange, in this queer link between a little country parish mentioned inDomesday Book and the big bustling modern world.
The bell tinkled on and on insistently, perhaps because it was now noone's special duty to attend to it. But at last the mistress of the housecame running from the garden and, stripping off her gardening gloves,took up the receiver.
Janet Tosswill was John Tosswill's second wife, and, though over forty,a still young and alert looking woman, more Irish than Scotch inappearance, with her dark hair and blue eyes. But she came of goodHighland stock and was proud of it.
"London wants you," came the tired, cross voice she knew all too well.
"I think there must be some mistake. This is Old Place, Beechfield,Surrey. I don't think anyone can be ringing us from London."
She waited a moment impatiently. Of course it was a mistake! Not a soulin London knew their telephone number. It had never been put on theirnotepaper. Still, she went on listening with the receiver held to herear, and growing more and more annoyed at the futile interruption andwaste of time.
She was just going to hang up the receiver w