For a minute or two she was busy with the cups and had no occasion to observe her aunt's expression. Then, chancing to glance across the table, she was dismayed to find the older woman regarding her with searching scrutiny.
"Well?" questioned Mrs. Archer briefly. "What is it?"
Mary stared at her guiltily. "What's--what?" she managed to parry.
"Why beat about the bush?" retorted her aunt. "Something's happened to frighten you. I can see that perfectly well. You know how I detest being kept in the dark, so you may as well tell me at once."
Mary hesitated. "But it--it may not--come to anything," she stammered. "I didn't want to--to frighten you--"
"Rubbish!" An odd, delicately grim expression came into the little old lady's face. "I'd rather be frightened unnecessarily than have something drop on me out of a clear sky. Out with it!"
Then Mary gave in and was conscious of a distinct relief in having a confident.
"It's only this," she said briefly. "When I went to close the back kitchen window a little while ago, I saw a--a face looking out of that little window above the harness-room. Some one's--hiding there."
For an instant Mrs. Archer's delicately pretty, faded face turned quite pale. Then she rallied bravely.
"Who--who was it?" she asked in a voice not altogether steady.
"I--don't know. It disappeared at once. But I'm sure it wasn't imagination."
For a moment or two her aunt sat thinking. Then she glanced quickly across the room. "Is that gun loaded?" she asked.
The girl nodded; she had ceased to be surprised at anything. For a space Mrs. Archer regarded her untouched cup of tea thoughtfully. When she looked up a bright spot of pink was glowing in each wrinkled cheek.
"It's not pleasant, but we must face it," she said. "It may be Pedro, or even Maria. Both of them are cowards. On the other hand it may be Lynch. There's no use shutting one's eyes to possibilities."
Abruptly she rose and walked quickly into her bedroom, returning in a moment or two with a little chamois case from which she drew a tiny twenty-two caliber revolver, beautifully etched and silver-mounted, with a mother-of-pearl stock.
"Your uncle gave it to me many years ago and showed me how to use it," she explained, laying it beside her plate. "I've never shot it off, but I see no reason why--"