He must call on Grazia Vaillant. He found the Old Vicarage a well-kept house, vaguely Georgian in architecture, with additions probably made by the fathers of large families in the last century. But as soon as he drew near he saw that no opportunity had been missed for antique embellishment. Wrought iron gates had been put in, large urns evidently from Crowthers’ topped the gateposts, beside the front door was a huge ship’s bell and over it a ship’s lamp. A wrought iron bracket which had once had a sign swinging from it had been fixed to the wall with another lamp suspended from it. An antique sundial was on the lawn and an ancient dovecote was visible. Mrs Rumble opened the door. She was evidently a woman who having taken the unprecedented step of according someone her friendship did not turn back, for she made a grimace at Carolus which was intended to suggest a smile. “I was just off,” she confided. “But she’s in, all right. Having her tea. Wait here a minute and I’ll tell her.”
