“I shan’t bet with you again, Mrs. Plant,” Roger retorted with mock severity. “I hate people who win bets against me. It isn’t fair.”
For the rest of dinner Roger seemed to be a little preoccupied.
As soon as the ladies had left the room, he strolled over to the open French windows which, like those of the library on the other side, led out on to the lawn.
“I think a smoke in the open air is indicated,” he observed carelessly. “Coming, Alec? What about you, Jefferson?”
“No rest for me, I’m afraid,” Jefferson replied with a smile. “I’m up to the eyes in it.”
“Straightening things up?”
“Trying to; they’re in a dreadful muddle.”
“Finances, you mean?”
“Yes, that and everything. He always managed his own affairs and this is the first time I’ve seen his passbooks and the rest. As he appeared to have accounts at no less than five different banks, you can understand something of what I’ve got to wade through.” Jefferson’s manner was perfectly friendly and open, almost frank.
“That’s funny. I wonder why he did that. And have you found any reason for his killing himself?”