“Pull yourself together, my dear fellow,” said Lord Caterham kindly. “(I wish you’d have some breakfast.) You don’t seem to realize that you can’t hush up a dead body. It’s got be buried and all that sort of thing. Very unfortunate, but there it is.”
George became suddenly calm.
“You are right, Caterham. You have called in the local police, you say? That will not do. We must have Battle.”
“Battle, murder and sudden death,” inquired Lord Caterham, with a puzzled face.
“No, no, you misunderstand me. I referred to Superintendent Battle of Scotland Yard. A man of the utmost discretion. He worked with us in that deplorable business of the Party Funds.”
“What was that?” asked Lord Caterham, with some interest.
But George’s eye had fallen upon Bundle, as she sat half in and half out of the window, and he remembered discretion just in time. He rose.
“We must waste no time. I must send off some wires at once.”
“If you write them out, Bundle will send them through the telephone.”
George pulled out a fountain pen and began to write with incredible rapidity. He handed the first one to Bundle, who read it with a great deal of interest.