Guy's mouth twitched. “Of course it wasn't. I'm not exactly worrying about anything, but this—this atmosphere of suspicion gets on my nerves. My own belief is that the whole thing will fizzle out for lack of evidence. After all, the police don't solve every crime by any means.”
“I wish to heaven Aunt Gertrude hadn't started the rotten business,” remarked Stella.
“God, I could strangle her!” Guy said, his voice shaking with suppressed emotion. He saw them both looking at him, and forced a laugh. “Well, I'd better go down, and see what they're up to,” he said, and brushed past his sister at the head of the stairs, and ran down.
Randall watched him go, carefully put out the stub of his cigarette in a bowl of ferns at his elbow, and said: “Dear me!”
“It's enough to get on anyone's nerves,” said Stella defiantly. “You don't live here, so you don't know what it's like.”
“I hesitate to proffer advice unasked,” drawled Randall, “but if I were Guy's fond sister I would tell him to go to work as usual. For one thing, it would look better.”
“He won't. I did say I thought he ought to carry on; in fact, I even got Mr Rumbold to advise him to go back to work, but he's frightfully highly-strung, and things do get on his nerves very easily. I think it's through having too much imagination. Because he has, you know.”
Judging by the only example of his work which I have been privileged to behold I should describe his imagination as being not only excessive, but morbid,” said Randall.
Stella, who was not an admirer of her brother's decorative schemes, made no reply to this, but merely said: “Well, I'm going down again. And I may as well warn you, Randall, if the police ask me I shall tell them how I saw you coming out of uncle's bathroom.”
“A very good idea,” said Randall cordially. “Let us start a General Information Bureau. You can inform about me in uncle's bathroom, and I can counter with some of Guy's remarks.”