The Hunting Crop
Although he was now in a state of being able to believe almost anything, Bennett thought that this last was a trifle too much. The faces looked unreal and masklike. And, in addition, H. M. was here. However he had contrived to get here, his presence was the one thing that lifted a burden and made you feel inexplicably that matters would be all right now. Others besides Bennett had known this feeling. Let the impossibilities go on; that didn't matter. After a space of silence Maurice Bohun moved forward, and Masters laid a heavy hand on his arm.
"Oh, no," he said. "Better stay just where you are. I'll answer that 'phone."
Maurice stiffened. He murmured: "If Lord Canifest, inspector, had expressed the slightest desire to speak with
You — “
"I said," repeated Masters without inflection, "I'll answer that telephone." He pushed Maurice with an easy motion which almost threw Maurice across the gallery; then Bennett found his own arm seized, and Masters was hurrying him along the hall as though in an arrest. "What I wanted to tell you… come along, Thompson; we'll see Sir Henry. what I wanted to tell you about H. M.," Masters continued in a low heavy voice, "was this. You sent him a telegram."
"I sent him a telegram?"
"Now, now; there's no time for argument. It's this way. He was off today for the Christmas holidays. If I'd tried to get in touch with him, he'd only have roared — really roared; not his usual kind that don't mean anything — and refused to have anything to do with it. But he's sentimental about a lot of things, though he'd murder you if you accused him of it; and one thing is Families. You're his nephew. If you were in trouble, he'd be here. Here's how it was. He'd phoned about you last night. When this case broke this morning, I knew it would be the biggest thing that ever happened to me, and the first under my direction after I was promoted. I've got to make a go of it, and it's not my kind of case. So first I came up here to — to see what sort of a young fellow you were." Masters was breathing hard. He was trying to keep his dignity, not very successfully. "You looked like the sort who'd back me up — umwell! If I stretched the truth in the interests of justice. That's it. Justice. So, when you went upstairs after I first saw you… Eh?" prompted Masters, with a pantomime leer.
Bennett whistled. He said: "I begin to see- You sent him a telegram signed with my name, saying I was in trouble? What kind of trouble am I supposed to be in? Good God, you didn't tell him I was accused of murder, did you?"
"Ah! No; I couldn't say that, now, could I? Or he'd have found out as soon as he got here. I didn't specify the trouble. At the time I couldn't think of anything. But afterwards, excuse me," Masters peered round, "I saw you looking at Miss Bohun… Well, now! Eh? So I've got somewhat of an explanation; that is, provided.."