“Certainly I am,” Roger replied with dignity. “Do you want everything put into blatant words?”
“Then thank you, sir,” said the inspector. “I could do with another pint on a night like this.”
Roger went with alacrity to the door. “Not a quart?” he suggested, “Come, it’s a hot night as you say. What about a gallon? No? You’re no sportsman, I’m afraid.” He shouted out the order to the landlord and returned to his seat.
“Seriously, though, sir,” the inspector resumed, “I’m afraid I can’t say anything about Sir Henry’s report. You’ll have to wait for the inquest. It’ll all come out then.”
“And when’s that?”
“It was adjourned to to-day week, if you remember.”
“Oh, Lord!” Roger groaned. “I can’t possibly wait till then.”
“Looks as if you’d have to, doesn’t it?” said the inspector, with hypocritical sympathy.
The landlord brought in two pint tankards of beer and retired again, breathing heavily.
Roger raised his. “Well, here’s confusion to you,” he said with deep gloom.