“Well, let’s compromise,” said Frid. “We won’t do one about bums. Let’s do one about witchcraft. Uncle G. will like that because he’ll think it’s making nonsense of Aunt V. and Aunt V. will be interested if we do it well enough.”

“She’s quite m-mad, you know, poor thing,” said Stephen. “D-don’t you consider she’s mad, Colin?”

“Stark ravers,” said Colin. “Where’s Mike?”

“Talking to Giggle about toy trains, I think. He’s better out of this.”

“Let’s get going,” said Patch. “Mummy said we were to hurry.”

The door opened and Charlot looked out. “It’s to rhyme with ‘pale,’ ” she said loudly and then lowering her voice she hissed: “It’s ‘nail.’ Don’t do either of the other things. Too risky.” The door shut and Charlot called from the other side: “Hurry up!”

Frid made a helpless gesture. “Well, there you are,” she said. “No bums and no witches and the word is ‘nail.’ Evidently Mummy wants us to get it right at the first stab. What shall we do?”

“Bite our nails?” suggested Patch.

“Put a nail in Uncle G.’s coffin,” said Henry viciously.

“Nailing our colours to the mast?”

“I know,” said Frid. “We’ll do Jael and Sisera.”

“What did they d-do?” asked Stephen.

“Something with a nail. What was it, Robin?”

“Didn’t Jael hammer a nail through Sisera’s head?”

“That’s right,” said Colin. “Well, we can be clever and do wail and hail and Jael and nail all at once. A compound charade.”

The Lampreys threw open the door of their enormous hall cupboard and began to dress themselves up.

“I’ll be Jael,” said Frid, “and Henry can be Sisera and the twins guards and Robin a faithful slave.”

“What am I?” demanded Patch, putting on Lord Wutherwood’s bowler.

“Another faithful slave. Wait a moment.”

Frid ran down the passage towards the kitchen. Roberta could hear her shouting: “A skewer, Baskett, a skewer! We’re doing a charade. Quick!”

“Did Jael make love to Sisera,” asked Colin, “before he slew her?”

“Jael’s the female,” said Stephen.

“Oh. Give me that ghastly scarf, will you. Is it Uncle G.’s?”

“Yes. I want it for a loin cloth.”

“I’m going to be a Circassian slave,” said Patch.

“This is most frightfully bogus,” said Henry, taking two yachting caps out of the wardrobe. “I can’t tell you how much I object to cavorting in front of these repellent people. You could use yachting caps as breast-plates, Robin. There’s some string.”

“Thank you. Aren’t you going to dress up, Henry?”

Henry hung a pair of field-glasses round his neck. “I shall play it modern,” he muttered. “Colonel Sisera Blimp.” He drew a pair of fur-lined motoring gloves over his hands.

Frid came back with a long silver-plated skewer.

“Be careful how you muck about my head with that thing,” said Henry.

“I want a hammer.”

“Use your boot. Let’s get it over.”

“In you go, Robin and Patch. Take that rug and hold it like a tent. You too, twins. Say how beautiful I am,” ordered Frid, “and wonder if the day has been Sisera’s.”