"It would be Spittal, who acts as caretaker."

"It was not. It was a woman. I saw her on the verandah."

The candid grey eyes were looking straight at Dickson, who managed to
bring his own shy orbs to meet them. He thought that he detected a
shade of hesitation. Then Mr. Loudon got up from his chair and stood
on the hearthrug looking down at his visitor. He laughed, with some
embarrassment, but ever so pleasantly.

"I really don't know what you will think of me, Mr. McCunn.
Here are you, coming to do us all a kindness, and lease that
infernal white elephant, and here have I been steadily hoaxing you
for the last five minutes. I humbly ask your pardon. Set it down to
the loyalty of an old family lawyer. Now, I am going to tell you
the truth and take you into our confidence, for I know we are
safe with you. The Kennedys are--always have been--just a wee
bit queer. Old inbred stock, you know. They will produce somebody
like poor Mr. Quentin, who was as sane as you or me, but as a
rule in every generation there is one member of the family--
or more--who is just a little bit---" and he tapped his forehead.
"Nothing violent, you understand, but just not quite 'wise and
world-like,' as the old folk say. Well, there's a certain old lady,
an aunt of Mr. Quentin and his sisters, who has always been about
tenpence in the shilling. Usually she lives at Bournemouth, but one
of her crazes is a passion for Huntingtower, and the Kennedys have
always humoured her and had her to stay every spring. When the House
was shut up that became impossible, but this year she took such a
craving to come back, that Lady Morewood asked me to arrange it.
It had to be kept very quiet, but the poor old thing is perfectly