“He had very little to do,” his father observed. “Found himself a trunk short, or something of that sort. I thought he had bought all his outfit in London, but I suppose he miscalculated.”
“When does he go abroad?”
“Saturday week. Sails from Liverpool to Montreal, I think, by an Allan liner.”
“The county will miss him,” the Chief Constable remarked, as he accepted a glass of sherry from the tray which Rawson had just brought out.
“So, I am afraid, shall I,” Sir Bertram admitted. “It is one of the signs of approaching age when one begins to rely upon other people. I remember the time when I used to find it devilish uncomfortable to have a grown-up son. To-day—well, I would rather there were something he could do in England. Shall we go in, Major? No use waiting for Gregory. He’s just as likely as not to lunch in Norwich.”
Luncheon was at times a difficult function. Holmes was in a sense an unwilling guest, and Sir Bertram was unusually silent. It was Henry, with his stilted phrases and old-fashioned sense of the obligations of a host, who kept conversation going. Towards the end of the meal, Gregory put in an unexpected appearance. He shook hands with Holmes, of whose presence he had obviously been informed, and apologised to his father.
“So sorry, Dad,” he explained. “It took me some time to find just the trunk I wanted, and then I remembered that I had ordered some riding kit at Houghton’s and I thought I might as well be tried on. Any news about the burglary, Major?”
“Nothing of any moment at present,” the latter replied.
Gregory busied himself for some time with his lunch, whilst the others loitered. Afterwards they strolled out on to the lawn together for coffee. As soon as it was served, Holmes set down his cup and faced the situation.
“Gregory,” he said, “I know you will remember that, as well as being your friend, and I hope the friend of every one here, I am a government official.”