Mr. Superbus shook his head.
“No, sir, he hasn’t come yet. They must be Hebrew gentlemen. Only Uncle Isaac and Mr. Dempsi.”
Bobbie knew about Dempsi.
“—and Aunt Lizzie,” concluded Julius.
Bobbie staggered, grasped the mantelpiece for support, and turned a wan countenance to the shirt-fronted butler. The unreality of the position was intensified. Presently Julius would produce two rabbits and a bowl of goldfish from a silk hat, and Diana would skip on to the scene in a ballet dress and a fixed smile. And then Bobbie would wake up.
“Do you mind pouring out a drink?” he asked faintly. “My hand’s not steady.”
The Great Detective opened the tantalus with an air of pride and poured forth a potion.
“Say ‘when,’” he said. He would have made a good barman, he was so talkative.
“Aunt Lizzie, I think you said?”
Bobbie had reviewed his relations, but no Aunt Lizzie showed in their serried ranks.