"Er — just so." Masters addressed himself to his notebook and to Martin. "Anything more you can tell us, Mr. Drake?"
"I don't think so." This atmosphere had become dangerously explosive, and Martin tried to lighten it "I woke up with Lady Brayle sitting beside me. I annoyed her, and she annoyed me, so I decided to dress and come downstairs. In here I found H.M. telling Aunt — telling Lady Fleet about his previous existence as a Cavalier poet and duellist" He grinned. "By the way, sir, you ought to talk to Dr. Laurier."
"What's that, son? Hey?"
"Dr. Laurier. He's an authority on old-time fencing. He can tell you all about the 'Fifty-fifty and the 'Low-High' and the 'Vanity' and everything else. Incidentally, he says his father fought two duels in France."
Masters barked him back to attention. But Masters himself had a grievance, and was annoyed enough to air it
"A fat lot of good;" he growled, "this gentleman Laurier did us last night!"
Martin, knowing a question would shut him up, said nothing.
"All he kept talking about" Masters growled, "was his father, with the big grey beard, when the gentleman was old and a bit scatty, sitting in a rocking-chair in front of that infernal skeleton-clock, rocking back and forth and muttering something in French that Sir Henry says means, 'Would a man of honour have done it?’
"Ah, but not done a murder,’' Masters added. "Because, according to the record, he was in this very room talking to the butler when Sir George Fleet pitched off the roof." Masters started, and woke up. "Hurrum! Sorry! Off the subject! Now, Mr. Drake! What I wanted to ask—"
But he never asked it