The Countess had been waiting for the carriage in
the porch, and had fled to avoid being forced to meet the unfortunate
Denry. (Humiliating thought!) The carriage had then taken her up at a
side door. And now she was gone. Possibly she had left Sneyd Hall not to
return for months, and that was why the doors had been locked. Perhaps
everybody had departed from the Hall save one aged and deaf retainer--he
knew, from historical novels which he had glanced at in his youth, that
in every Hall that respected itself an aged and deaf retainer was
invariably left solitary during the absences of the noble owner. He
knocked on the small disguised door. His unique purpose in knocking was
naturally to make a noise, but something prevented him from making a
noise. He felt that he must knock decently, discreetly; he felt that he
must not outrage the conventions.
No result to this polite summoning.
He attacked other doors; he attacked every door he could put his hands
on; and gradually he lost his respect for decency and the conventions
proper to Halls, knocking loudly and more loudly. He banged. Nothing but
sheer solidity stopped his sturdy hands from going through the panels.
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