"And that's absurd, of course, I" Jenny had some intense purpose behind this; her eyes were lustrous. "You see, my parents were estranged. They sent me away to school from the time I was ten and onwards. Grandmother was always hovering about it's true. But most of the vacations were abroad with my parents. Then came the war and the Wrens. It's only since the war that Grandmother's had much 'influence.' I was wondering if H.M.—"
"Yes, miss?"
Martin who had got up and was staring out of the window, interposed.
"Where the devil is H.M., by the way?"
Masters's own temper flared as he sat down in a chair opposite Jenny. Everything grated now, everything jarred like a bad slate-pencil on a bad slate.
"Whatever he's doing," the Chief Inspector snapped, "he's not attending to business."
"There's a Derby-Day crowd round that race-track," said Martin, "all waving shillings. Is he still being bookie?"
"When I last saw the gentleman," Masters replied with dignity, "he was starting some kind of darts-contest." Masters looked at Jenny, not without sarcasm. "I suppose, miss, your grandmother doesn't keep a cellar full of beer?"
"Good heavens, not. She used to drink wine, but…"
"N-no," intoned Masters, "I didn't think she would keep a beer-cellar. And especially I didn't think she'd keep it in barrels with her photograph pasted on, and 'Here's how from Lady Brayle.’ As to what the old bounder's doing…"