There May Be Danger by Ianthe Jerrold

but when she did, she blushed thoroughly. And I haven’t seen him,” she added brightly, “for over two years.”
    â€œWell, absence makes the heart grow fonder, doesn’t it,” said Mr. Morrison, fitting a cigarette into his long ivory holder. The perfect matter-of-factness with which he spoke convinced Kate that she was indeed carnation to the eyebrows. She was not, however, going to be daunted by foolish behaviour of her heart into changing the subject.
    â€œColin must have enjoyed seeing this house,” she said with composure. “But, of course, what he really likes is a good tumulus. Gwyn Lupton tells me that you’ve got an old coin he found on the tumulus at Pentrewer, Mr. Morrison. He seemed to think you wouldn’t mind showing it to me, and I’d love to see it.”
    â€œMy dear Miss Mayhew, I should be just delighted!”
    â€œI don’t know much about old coins—just a bit, through spending a good many hours in Dorchester Museum with Colin. It must be something unusual, from what Gwyn Lupton says.
    â€œIt’s a silver penny of Ceowulf, 874, as far as I can tell,” said Mr. Morrison, looking quizzically at her as if to test her knowledge.
    â€œReally? That’s rather exciting, isn’t it?”
    â€œCeowulf a friend of yours?”
    Kate laughed.
    â€œA friend of Colin’s. Slight acquaintance of mine. King of Mercia, wasn’t he?”
    Mr. Morrison’s quizzical look became tinged with a humorous respect.
    â€œWhy, you’re quite a numismatist! It isn’t in very good state, this coin, but I thought I’d risk a little on its purchase, as Mr. Lupton seemed to prefer a more modern coinage.”
    â€œI’d love to see it.”
    Rosaleen jumped up.
    â€œYou’d like to see the house, too, wouldn’t you? I expect you’ve seen a great many lovely old English houses, but you know it’s still new and exciting to us.”
    It was new and exciting to Kate, too. The Veault was much larger than it had appeared from the backyard approach. On the first storey there was a delightful long gallery which was, Rosaleen said, to be the main night nursery. Besides this gallery, there seemed to be innumerable bedrooms, both large and tiny, and mostly leading out of one another, so that by the time Kate and Rosaleen were back on the staircase landing, they seemed to have made a kind of circular tour without once retracing their steps. The second floor repeated the first floor, with three little bedrooms over the gallery, and above the second floor were the attics, dark, rambling, with swallow nests in the bare rafters, web-smeared windows and an elaborate arrangement of queen-posts and tie-beams. A brick panel in the back wall had been taken out for repairs. Kate looked out through it upon the great stone chimney-stack with the scaffolding round it that she had seen from the yard. A good many of the wide old floorboards, ingrained with the grey dust of centuries, were up, exposing the cobwebbed joists below.
    â€œUncle Doug doesn’t let the men re-lay so much as a board without investigating among the joists for hidden treasure,” said Rosaleen. “So far he’s found enough husks to keep a family in breakfast-cereals for a year, innumerable spiders, a metal staybone of the Edwardian period, a broken celluloid comb and a mummified rat. But hope springs eternal in the hooman breast. He still thinks he’ll be rewarded one of these days with a sliding panel and a skeleton.”
    Kate lingered on the narrow stairs.
    â€œI don’t know anything about old houses, but I feel this staircase is very old.”
    Rosaleen patted her lightly on the back.
    â€œBut you really are quite an antiquarian!” she said. “You’re quite right, honey. This part of the house and the hall and kitchen are remains of an older mediaeval manor that the Veault, as you see it, got built on to some time in