‘That was frightfully kind of you,’ said Harriet. ‘What was the ghost dressed in?’
‘Oh—one of those sort of dark-blue frocks with spriggy bits on it and a hat with a brim. Sort of thing most of your dons wear in the afternoon. Neat, not gaudy. Not smart. Just ordinary. It was the eyes I recognised. Made me feel all goose-flesh. Honest. That woman’s not safe, I’ll swear she isn’t.’
‘It’s very good of you to warn me,’ said Harriet again. ‘I’ll try and find out who it could have been. And I’ll take precautions.’
‘Please do,’ said Lord Saint-George. ‘I mean, Uncle Peter’s getting the wind up horribly. Gone clean off his oats. Of course I know he’s a fidgety old ass and I’ve been doing my best to soothe the troubled breast and all that, but I’m beginning to think he’s got some excuse. For g
