A dead and ghastly silence, in which we all remained transfixed. Then from somewhere came two slow thuds, and a sound of drapery moving. The Colonel, with mad fear in his eyes, looked round at the uncurtained windows, and crouched on his seat.
"We must leave this room," said Lady Lathkill.
"I'll tell you what. Mother," said Lord Lathkill curiously; "you and the Colonel go up, and we'll just turn on the Victrola."
That was almost uncanny of him. For myself, the cold effluence of these people had paralysed me. Now I began to rally. I felt that Lord Lathkill was sane, it was these other people who were mad.
Again from somewhere indefinite came two slow thuds.
"We must leave this room," repeated Lady Lathkill in monotony.
"All right. Mother. You go. I'll just turn on the Victrola."
And Lord Lathkill strode across the room. In another moment the monstrous barking howl of the opening of a jazz tune, an event far more extraordinary than thuds, poured from the unmoving bit of furniture called a Victrola.
Lady Lathkill silently departed. The Colonel got to his feet.
"I wouldn't go if I were you. Colonel," said I. "Why not dance? I'll look on this time."