"They _are_!" said she. "What a pity to have this wonderful old castle
actually devastated by workmen! It is an outrage--a crime. I should
think the owner would turn over in his grave."

"Unhappily, I am the owner, madam," said I, slyly working my foot back
into an elusive slipper.

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself," she said, eyeing me coldly with
a hitherto unexposed lorgnon.

"I am," said I. "You quite took me by surprise. I should have made
myself more presentable if I had known--"

"Well, let's move on upstairs," said Rocksworth. Addressing the porters
he said: "You fellows get this lot of stuff together and I'll take an
option on it. I'll be over to-morrow to close the deal, Mr.--Mr.--Now,
where is the old Florentine mirror the Count was telling us about?"

"The Count?" said I, frowning.

"Yes, the _real_ owner. You can't stuff me with your talk about being
the proprietor here, my friend. You see, we happen to _know_ the Count."

They all condescended to laugh at me. I don't know what I should have
said or done if Britton had not returned with a box of matches at that
instant--sulphur matches which added subtly to the growing illusion.

Almost simultaneously there appeared in the lower hall a lanky youth
of eighteen. He was a loud-voiced, imperious sort of chap with at least
three rolls to his trousers and a plum-coloured cap.