Luke stared at them blankly. “Afraid I’m rather interrupting,” he stammered.
“Well, old bean,” said Dot. “You do come as a bit of a surprise. We’d not expected you before Tuesday. But our two gentlemen friends—Albert and Hector—I think you’ve met them—have to be back at their job at six. So we shan’t keep you long. The kitchen door’s open if you care to slip into the house and wait.”
Luke’s powerful mind made a rapid deduction. This could never have happened if Mabel had not been powerless to prevent it. So Mabel must have ... Yes, the oxalic acid.
“Can you tell me,” he said in sepulchral tones, “where I shall find the body of my poor wife?”
“Afraid I can’t,” said Dot. Her laughter jarred on him.
“Let us,” he said, “be reverent. When did she die?”
Here Dash, under the pink parasol, broke in, “But she’s alive. And I’ll bet she’s a good deal livelier than she’s been for years past. I helped her pack, and it was some trousseau. The old girl’s done a bunk. See? Skipped it with a gentleman friend of hers.”
“You might have mentioned that before,” said Luke, aggrieved. “I quite thought that something was the matter.”
“Well, she’s left a letter for you in your almost-silver cigarette case. You’ll find it in the bath-room, balanced on the hot-water tap. You run along and read it. You’re the least little bit in the way at this tea party.”