The Colonel lifted his brows. "That French Johnny?
Can't say I understand much about art, but I've always thought his pictures were dam' bad. I'm a plain man, and if I look at a picture I like to be able to see what it's meant to be. But I daresay I'm old-fashioned."
"I should rather like to know," said Charles, "what he's doing here. Know anything about him, sir?"
The Colonel shook his head. "No, afraid I don't. Never really thought about it, to tell you the truth."
"He's not exactly prepossessing," Peter remarked. "He may be a bit of a wrong 'un who finds it wiser not to return to his native shores."
"Pon my soul, you people have got mysteries on the brain!" exclaimed the Colonel. "First it's poor old Titmarsh, and now it's what's-his-name? — Duval. What's he been up to, I should like to know?"
"Intriguing us by his conversation," said Charles lightly. "Making our blood run cold by his sinister references to our Monk."
The Colonel threw up his hands. "No, no, once you get on to that Monk of yours I can't cope with you, Malcolm. Now really, really, my dear fellow, you don't seriously mean to tell me you've been listening to that sodden dope-fiend?"
Charles looked up quickly. "Ah! So you think he's a dope-fiend too, do you?"
The Colonel caught himself up. "Daresay one oughtn't to say so," he apologised. "Slander, eh? But it's common talk round here."