"Both the bar and the grillroom," Ferrani assured him.
"If he had been suddenly taken ill—" Molly murmured.
"But there is no place in which he could have been taken ill which we have not searched," Ferrani reminded her.
"And besides," Holderness intervened, "Sandy was in the very pink of health, and bubbling over with high-spirits."
"One noticed that," Lutchester remarked, a little drily.
"He might almost have been called garrulous," Pamela agreed.
Ferrani took grave leave of them, and Holderness seated himself at the table.
"Well, let's get on with luncheon, anyway," he advised. "It's no good bothering. The best thing we can do is to conclude that the impossible has happened—that Sandy has met with some pals and will be here presently."
"Or possibly," Lutchester suggested, "that he has done what certainly seems the most reasonable thing—gone straight off to the War Office with his formula and forgotten all about us. Let us return the compliment and forget all about him."
They finished their luncheon a little more cheerfully. As the cigarettes were handed round, Pamela's eyes looked longingly at a tray of Turkish coffee which was passing.