"I don't know, sir," answered Trevelyan.
"Brady?"
"Nor do I, sir."
"Vickers?"
"Honestly, I haven't the dimmest notion, sir, though it sounds funny to say so."
"I'm glad you can see the fun. I'm sorry to say it sounds to me too much like lying."
"Sir!" Escombe Trevelyan sat up in bed with flashing eyes to emphasize his indignation.
Mr. Peace turned to him, and stamped his foot angrily.
"Lie down, Trevelyan, at once! You dare to speak to me like that! Cadbury, you're the only one I haven't asked. Who cooked this fowl?"
"A woman, sir. I—don't know her name."