what he said.”
“But the Misses Peterson, the Americans, have not yet had a season?”
“Them? They’re foreigners. Need all the help they can get.”
“Was Miss Gore-Desmond romantically involved with any of the gentleman?”
“Not that I noticed. My husband will speak to your superiors. And the—”
“Prime Minister,” Kerridge finished for her.
“Him, too. Now bustle along. Silly doctor. Not one of us.”
After she had left, Kerridge heaved a sigh. “Better start on the servants. I hear someone arriving.” He walked to the window and looked down into the courtyard. A smart new motor car had just pulled up. Getting out of it was a tall man accompanied by a servant.
Kerridge rang the bell and waited until a footman appeared. “Who is the new arrival?” he asked.
“I believe a Captain Harry Cathcart has arrived, sir.” “Indeed,” said the superintendent thoughtfully. “Now I wonder what he’s doing here.”
“Where are you to be lodged?” the captain asked his manservant.
“With all the valets and lady’s maids, accommodation is limited. I am to share a room with Freddy Pomfret’s valet.”
“Find out what the servants are saying about this mysterious death.”
“Of course.”
“I’m uneasy about this one,” said Harry. “Hedley wants me to fix things so that it will appear as an accidental death. But I don’t see myself covering up for a murder.”
“I will find out what I can, sir. The dressing bell has just gone. We have our new tailored suit.”
“We, Becket?”
“I understand that is the way menservants talk, sir.” “Don’t do it. It reminds me of the nursery.” “Very good, sir.”
At the dinner table, Harry covertly studied the other guests. Rose was looking beautiful in a creamy-white evening dress trimmed with spotted net frills and baby ribbon. She caught him looking at her and gave him a hard stare before turning to Freddy Pomfret on her right.
Harry gave a mental shrug and addressed Mrs. Jerry Trum-pington, seated on his left.
“Bad business,” he began.
“Oh, it’ll be over soon,” said Mrs. Trumpington indistinctly through a mouthful of quail. “Fuss about nothing.”
“So you think it was an accident?”
“Of course. Parents are abroad but heading back fast. Pity for them. Still, it couldn’t be anything else. Unless you can be murdered for being a dismal failure at your first season. Which is exactly what all these girls were—except the Americans. Great dowries. They’ll go fast. And Hedley will have made a bit of money out of it.”
“Money? How?”
“Yes, but more, more.” Mrs. Trumpington broke off to address a footman serving fish.
“Ah, where was I? Ah, yes, the men are paying for a chance at the Americans and the gels’ parents are paying in the hope that their daughters will make a match.”
“I would not have thought our host needed the money.”
“Greedy. That’s what he is.” Mrs. Trumpington filled her mouth with fish.
Harry turned to Miss Maisie Chatterton on his other side. “Are you bearing up,” he asked her.
“Yeth,” whispered Maisie. “I telephoned Mama and told her to come and get me and she wouldn’t ‘cos she thaid that a drama like this would bring out the knight errant in the gentlemen and get me a proposal.”
“And has it?”
“No, they’re all after the Americans. ‘Snot fair. They’re not Bwitish.”
“Did you know Miss Gore-Desmond well?”
“No.”
“Was she hoping for a husband?”
“Odd. She said she didn’t need to look. Was already spoken for.”
“By whom?”
“Don’t know. You’re as bad as the police. All these questions.” Maisie giggled and rapped him on the arm with her fan.
Dinner was a shorter affair than usual. The men spent very little time over their port and cigars before joining the ladies in the drawing-room.
Harry found himself drawn to Rose’s side. “Captain Cath-cart,” she said coldly, “why are you here?”
“Late guest.”
“I
“But the Misses Peterson, the Americans, have not yet had a season?”
“Them? They’re foreigners. Need all the help they can get.”
“Was Miss Gore-Desmond romantically involved with any of the gentleman?”
“Not that I noticed. My husband will speak to your superiors. And the—”
“Prime Minister,” Kerridge finished for her.
“Him, too. Now bustle along. Silly doctor. Not one of us.”
After she had left, Kerridge heaved a sigh. “Better start on the servants. I hear someone arriving.” He walked to the window and looked down into the courtyard. A smart new motor car had just pulled up. Getting out of it was a tall man accompanied by a servant.
Kerridge rang the bell and waited until a footman appeared. “Who is the new arrival?” he asked.
“I believe a Captain Harry Cathcart has arrived, sir.” “Indeed,” said the superintendent thoughtfully. “Now I wonder what he’s doing here.”
“Where are you to be lodged?” the captain asked his manservant.
“With all the valets and lady’s maids, accommodation is limited. I am to share a room with Freddy Pomfret’s valet.”
“Find out what the servants are saying about this mysterious death.”
“Of course.”
“I’m uneasy about this one,” said Harry. “Hedley wants me to fix things so that it will appear as an accidental death. But I don’t see myself covering up for a murder.”
“I will find out what I can, sir. The dressing bell has just gone. We have our new tailored suit.”
“We, Becket?”
“I understand that is the way menservants talk, sir.” “Don’t do it. It reminds me of the nursery.” “Very good, sir.”
At the dinner table, Harry covertly studied the other guests. Rose was looking beautiful in a creamy-white evening dress trimmed with spotted net frills and baby ribbon. She caught him looking at her and gave him a hard stare before turning to Freddy Pomfret on her right.
Harry gave a mental shrug and addressed Mrs. Jerry Trum-pington, seated on his left.
“Bad business,” he began.
“Oh, it’ll be over soon,” said Mrs. Trumpington indistinctly through a mouthful of quail. “Fuss about nothing.”
“So you think it was an accident?”
“Of course. Parents are abroad but heading back fast. Pity for them. Still, it couldn’t be anything else. Unless you can be murdered for being a dismal failure at your first season. Which is exactly what all these girls were—except the Americans. Great dowries. They’ll go fast. And Hedley will have made a bit of money out of it.”
“Money? How?”
“Yes, but more, more.” Mrs. Trumpington broke off to address a footman serving fish.
“Ah, where was I? Ah, yes, the men are paying for a chance at the Americans and the gels’ parents are paying in the hope that their daughters will make a match.”
“I would not have thought our host needed the money.”
“Greedy. That’s what he is.” Mrs. Trumpington filled her mouth with fish.
Harry turned to Miss Maisie Chatterton on his other side. “Are you bearing up,” he asked her.
“Yeth,” whispered Maisie. “I telephoned Mama and told her to come and get me and she wouldn’t ‘cos she thaid that a drama like this would bring out the knight errant in the gentlemen and get me a proposal.”
“And has it?”
“No, they’re all after the Americans. ‘Snot fair. They’re not Bwitish.”
“Did you know Miss Gore-Desmond well?”
“No.”
“Was she hoping for a husband?”
“Odd. She said she didn’t need to look. Was already spoken for.”
“By whom?”
“Don’t know. You’re as bad as the police. All these questions.” Maisie giggled and rapped him on the arm with her fan.
Dinner was a shorter affair than usual. The men spent very little time over their port and cigars before joining the ladies in the drawing-room.
Harry found himself drawn to Rose’s side. “Captain Cath-cart,” she said coldly, “why are you here?”
“Late guest.”
“I
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