Mark took any joke against himself badly, but she was determined
to do it. I gave way reluctantly. Reluctantly, also, I told her
the secret of the passage. (There is an underground passage from
the library to the bowling-green. You should exercise your
ingenuity, Mr. Gillingham, in trying to discover it. Mark came
upon it by accident a year ago. It was a godsend to him; he
could drink there in greater secrecy. But he had to tell me
about it. He wanted an audience, even for his vices.)

"I told Miss Norris, then, because it was necessary for my plan
that Mark should be thoroughly frightened. Without the passage
she could never have got close enough to the bowling-green to
alarm him properly, but as I arranged it with her she made the
most effective appearance, and Mark was in just the state of rage
and vindictiveness which I required. Miss Norris, you
understand, is a professional actress. I need not say that to
her I appeared to be animated by no other feeling than a boyish
desire to bring off a good joke--a joke directed as much against
the others as against Mark.

"He came to me that night, as I expected, still quivering with
indignation. Miss Norris must never be asked to the house again;
I was to make a special note of it; never again. It was
outrageous. Had he not a reputation as a host to keep up, he
would pack her off next morning. As it was, she could stay;
hospitality demanded it; but never again would she come to the
Red House--he was absolutely determined about that. I was to
make a special note of it.

"I comforted him, I smoothed down his ruffled feathers. She had