"Oh, not at any of the critical times, I admit. And I certainly never went near that kitchen, even if I did have any earthly reason for wanting to hurt poor Vicky. But I did drop in here to see her about two o'clock, on my way to the major's." The amused shining of her eyes hid a deeper worry she tried to conceal. "So you can put on that as much sinister emphasis as you like."
"Which," said Courtney, "is not much."
"No," smiled Rich. "And as for me, I feel like a free man again." He seemed surprised and a little incredulous, passing a hand across his forehead. "A free man. Released! When I see Merrivale again—"
He had not long to wait in seeing H.M. H.M., in fact, was coming up the path at that moment. With his baggy sports-coat flapping above white flannels, he seemed distraught and in something of a hurry.
Rich's face lit up.
"Sir Henry," he began, "I want to thank—"
H.M.'s manner was fussed and fussy.
"That's all right, son." He waved his hand. "Some other time. Oh, I say: wait. Masters wants a word with you. He's down in the kitchen now, givin' the cook hysterics. Go and see him, will you?"
"With pleasure!" declared Rich, and marched away as though to music.
Though H.M. tried to smooth out the expression of his face, Courtney could see that something was up. He felt a quiver of what might have been apprehension. Against the heat of the day H.M. mopped his forehead with a handkerchief, and took off his spectacles and polished them, before fitting them back on like a war-helmet.