"I adore detective stories," said Mrs. Perrigord. Her husband remained motionless. But on his glassy-eyed countenance was a curious expression. He looked as a familiar of the Spanish Inquisition might have looked if, on the morning of an auto-da-fe, Fra Torquemada had announced an intention of dismissing the poor blighters with a warning.
"Do you indeed, my dear?" inquired Leslie Perrigord, frostily. "Most extraordinary. Well, we must not detain them, Cynthia. Miss Glenn, I hope I shall have the pleasure of conferring with you to-day — and also your excellent uncle, to whom I look forward to meeting — and arrange matters for the performance to-night. A bientot!"
"But we shall see you at the concert, of course," observed Mrs. Perrigord. On her face was a narrow-eyed smile which somehow reminded Morgan of Mr. Stanley Laurel. "Les-leh and I have bean conferring with the pursah to arrange it. I shall so hope to see you, deah Miss Glenn. An excellent programme has bean arranged. Madame Giulia Leda Camopsozzi will sing morceaux from the more modern masters, accompanied by her husband, Signor Benito Furioso Camopsozzi. I — ah — believe," she added, frowning as though this did not appeal to her, "that the pursah, a certain Mr. Macgregor, has persuaded Dr. Oliver Kyle to recite selections from the works of Robert Burns. This will of course precede M. Fortinbras's performance. A bientot"
"Cheero-ho," said Peggy, rising from the table, "and thanks most awfully for all the information. You must come and see me, Mr. Perrigord, and tell me all about those fascinating things — but, I say — er — if you're going to see my uncle—"
"Yes?" inquired Mr. Perrigord. He lifted his eyebrows at her worried expression.
"Don't think me foolish, but I really know him awfully well. And please promise me, if he's up and about — I mean, I know how awful some of you terribly intelligent people are," she really seemed to be in earnest this time, and even Mrs. Perrigord condescended to look at her as she hesitated; "but promise me you won't give him anything to drink. I know it sounds silly, but he really hasn't got a strong head; and — and you'd never believe it, but he has a most awful weakness for gin. I have to watch him, you see, because one night when we were to give a performance in Philadelphia—"
"I never touch spirits, Miss Glenn," said Perrigord, swiftly and rather curtly. " 'Why should I put a thief in my mouth to steal away my brains?' as T. S. Eliot somewhere puts it. It is abominable. I am also a vegetarian. M. Fortinbras will be quite safe in my care. Good day."
In silence the three conspirators hurried away from the table. Morgan, locked up with his own bewildering thoughts, did not speak. Peggy looked scared. It was Warren who broke the silence.
"You see?" he demanded, savagely. "Those two dumb chucks wouldn't steal anything. Now take my advice before it's too late. It's that fake doctor, I'm telling you. My Lord! the thing didn't just disappear! It's in his cabin… "
"Peggy," said Morgan, "there's no other explanation. You must have mistaken the cabin."