“What about that trumpeter?” from Gerry Prescott.
“Never mind that. I was asked for my opinion and I gave it.”
“In the event of your being on the spot at a murder case, then, you consider that you would solve the mystery quicker than trained men?”
“Under equal conditions, yes, Captain Arkwright! Again, what is a trained man? I am a trained man. I’ve trained myself to observe and to remember.”
Here, Lady Considine interrupted with “Pardon me, Mr. Bathurst. But these girls won’t sleep if you keep on discussing murders. Besides, Sir Charles wants his game of Auction.”
Two tables started, the military party playing solo. And gradually the hum of conversation subsided as the games got under way. Helen Arkwright played while her sister sang. Jack Considine and Anthony went into the garden to smoke cigars. I stayed and watched the cards. Prescott won steadily from most of them, but from Lieutenant Barker chiefly. And when after a time, I saw a look of more than ordinary chagrin pass over the latter’s face and following that, an I.O.U. handed across the table to Prescott, I felt that they had played long enough. For neither Sir Charles nor Lady Considine cared for such happenings as that. So at eleven-forty or thereabouts, I suggested they stop.
The others assented readily.
“I’m for bed,” I said, “after just one ‘spot’!”
I walked to the French windows that commanded the garden and looked out. The rain that had come on just before seven, had ceased and there was a moon with a sparkling retinue of stars.
I swallowed my whisky.