He glanced over his shoulder as someone opened the door. Wilkes had put his head into the room to see who was there. He bade them good afternoon, and wanted to know whether he might tell John, the waiter, to serve them with tea. They all refused, but the Colonell detained Wilkes. "I say, Wilkes," he called, "here's that artist fellow been maundering to Mr. Malcolm about the Priory ghost. Is he drunk again?"
Wilkes came farther into the room, shaking his head. "I'm afraid so, sir. Been carrying on something chronic these last three days. First it's the Monk, then it's eyes watching him in the dark, till he fair gives me the creeps, and yesterday nothing would do but he must tell me how there was a plot about to keep him from being reckernised. If you ask me, sir, he's gone clean potty."
"Dear, dear, something will have to be done about it if that's so," Colonel Ackerley said. "You never know with these drug fiends. He may turn dangerous."
"Yes, sir, that's what I've been thinking," Wilkes said. "He's got a nasty look in his eye some days."
"Better keep your carving-knife out of reach," the Colonel said laughingly.
At that moment Peter chanced to look at the window. "Hullo!" he said. "There's your pal, Fripp, Chas. Looks a trifle jaded."
Charles glanced round, but Fripp had passed the window. "I daresay. There are quite a lot of rooms at the Priory," he remarked.
The Colonel pricked up his ears. "Fripp? Fripp? Seem to know that name. Wait a bit! Is he a fellow with some sort of a vacuum-cleaner?"
"He is," said Charles. "He has been spending the afternoon demonstrating it at the Priory. In fact, all over the Priory."
"Perfect pest, these house-to-house salesmen," fumed the Colonel. "Came to my place the other day, but my man sent him about his business."