"I don"t believe he is at home," Archie Ferguson said. He was ayeways a bad liar.
"I do believe he is," I said, "for I can hear his voice." That was also a lie of course but I was frantic to see him and put the question to him. "We are to be wed," I said foolishly.
As you know, a turnpike staircase, the circular stairs that wind around a central pillar, do not allow much space for manoeuvre, so it was difficult for two people to pass each other. All the same, I pushed forward, squeezing past the grey-bearded old man so that he lost his footing and tumbled down the stairs. I heard him fall, debated with myself whether I should spend the time ensuring he was uninjured, heard him roaring and told myself that a man who made that much noise could not be badly hurt and ran on.
I knew Whitecle
