Death and the Dancing Footman by Ngaio Marsh

shall have a little sunshine, I believe,” said Jonathan. “It may not last long, so doubtless the hardier members of the party will choose to make the most of it.”
    “I don’t propose to build a snow-man, Jonathan, if that’s what you’re driving at,” said Hersey.
    “Don’t you, Hersey?” said William. “I rather thought I might. After Nick’s bath, you know. Have you heard about Nick’s bath?”
    “Your mother told me. You’re not going to hold him to it, William?”
    “He needn’t if he doesn’t want to.”
    “Bill,” said Chloris, “
don’t
remind him of it. Your mother—”
    “She won’t get up for ages,” said William, “and I don’t suppose there’ll be any need to remind Nick. After all, it
was
a bet.”
    “I think you’re behaving rather badly,” said Chloris uncertainly. William stared at her.
    “Are you afraid he’ll get a little cold in his nose?” he asked, and added: “I was up to my waist in snow and slush in France not so long ago.”
    “I know, darling, but—”
    “Here
is
Nick,” said William placidly. His brother came in and paused at the door.
    “Good morning,” said William. “We were just talking about the bet. They all seem to think I ought to let you off.”
    “Not at all,” said Nicholas. “You’ve lost your tenner.”
    “
There
!” said William, “I said you’d do it. You mustn’t get that lovely uniform wet, Nick. Jonathan will lend you a bathing suit, I expect. Or you could borrow my uniform. It’s been up to—” Mandrake, Chloris, Hersey and Jonathan all began to speak at once and William, smiling gently, fetched himself another cup of coffee. Nicholas turned away to the sideboard. Mandrake had half expected Jonathan to interfere but he merely remarked on the hardihood of the modern young man and drew a somewhat tiresome analogy from the exploits of ancient Greeks. Nicholas suddenly developed a sort of gaiety that set Mandrake’s teeth on edge, so falsely did it ring.
    “Shall you come and watch me, Chloris?” asked Nicholas, seating himself beside her.
    “I don’t approve of your doing it.”
    “Oh, Chloris! Are you angry with me? I can’t bear it. Tell me you’re not angry with me. I’m doing it all for your sake. I must have an audience. Won’t you be my audience?”
    “Don’t be a fool,” said Chloris. But, damn it, thought Mandrake, she’s preening herself all the same. Dr. Hart arrived and was very formal with his greetings. He looked ghastly and breakfasted on black coffee and toast. Nicholas threw him a glance curiously compounded of malice and nervousness and began to talk still more loudly to Chloris Wynne of his bet with William. Hersey, who had evidently got sick of Nicholas, suddenly said she thought it was time he cut the cackle and got to the ’osses.
    “But everybody isn’t here,” said William. “Madame Lisse isn’t here.”
    “Divine creature!” exclaimed Nicholas affectedly, and showed the whites of his eyes at Dr. Hart. “She’s in bed.”
    “How do you know?” asked William, against the combined mental opposition of the rest of the party.
    “I’ve investigated. I looked in to say good morning on my way down.”
    Dr. Hart put down his cup with a clatter and walked quickly out of the room.
    “You are a damned fool, Nick,” said Hersey softly.
    “It’s starting to snow again,” said William. “You’d better hurry up with your bath.”
    Mandrake thought that no wager had ever fallen as inauspiciously as this one. Even Jonathan seemed uneasy and when they drifted into the library made a half-hearted attempt to dissuade Nicholas. Lady Hersey said flatly that she thought the whole affair extremely boring and silly; Chloris Wynne at first attempted an air of jolly house-party waggishness, but a little later Mandrake overheard her urging William to call off the bet. Mrs. Compline somehow got wind of the project and sent down a message forbidding it, but this was followed by a message from Madame