He thought for a moment or two. “Awfully good of you, Bill—but if you don’t mind, I’ll go alone. I’m not altogether sure that I shan’t be wasting my time—so I’ve no desire to waste yours, possibly!” He smiled his disarming smile. I was immediately mollified.
“Have the Morris-Oxford, Bathurst, to run you to the station,” offered Sir Charles.
“Thank you very much, sir, I shall be delighted. I’ll leave here about twenty minutes past ten. I’ll just go and get ready.”
“What’s taking him away, Bill?” said Jack Considine. “I’m not inquisitive I hope, but is it this Prescott business?”
“I can’t say,” I replied. “Very probably, though.”
“I think it must be,” announced Sir Charles. “Baddeley was up here again yesterday, you know. I had a moment with him. I gave him a rub or two concerning the inquest.” He chuckled. “He’s a very decent fellow though, and very despondent at the moment over his lack of success in regard to, what I am informed, is now known to the world in general as ‘The Billiard Room Mystery.’” He sighed. “Such is fame, Helen! Anyhow, when I realized that he was genuinely sore and upset, I tried a different tack. I’m afraid this case would have tried a greater brain than Baddeley’s.”
“Well, I for one, sincerely hope the affair will be settled,” intervened Captain Arkwright. “We are all more or less under a cloud while it remains unsolved—that’s how I feel about it. And others besides us—Hornby, Tennant, Daventry—and all the fellows that were here at the time.”
“That’s very true,” agreed our host. “The whole house is under a cloud—the Cricket Week will always have this unholy reminiscence hanging over it—even after the whole tangle is cleared away—if it ever is cleared away. Of course there is less strain for all of us since Mrs. Prescott returned to London.”
The door opened and Anthony came quickly in.
“The car’s waiting, sir, so with your permission, I’ll get away.”