“All the papers would have it,” I said. “Even the Nationalists would be obliged to admit that I’d done a particularly noble thing.” “I don’t believe Vittie has the influenza.”
“McMeekin said so.”
“It would be just like Vittie,” said Titherington, “to pretend he had it so as to get an excuse for calling in McMeekin. He knows McMeekin has been wobbling ever since you got ill.”
This silenced me. If Vittie is crafty enough to devise such a complicated scheme for bribing McMeekin without bringing himself within the meshes of the Corrupt Practices Act he is certainly too wise to allow himself to be subjected to my nurse.
“Anyway,” said Titherington, “it’s not Vittie’s influenza I came here to talk about.”
“Have you got the key of your bag with you?”
Titherington was in a bad temper, but he allowed himself to grin. He went down on his hands and knees and dragged the bag from its hiding place under the bed.
We opened two half bottles, but although Titherington drank a great deal more than his share he remained morose.
“That girl,” he said, “is playing old hookey with the constituency. I won’t be answerable for the consequences unless she’s stopped at once.”
“I suppose you’re speaking about Miss Beresford?”