"What will you have, sir? Martini? Sherry?"
"Thank you, thank you, I think a sherry — a dry sherry. Dear me, Harding, how it — er — takes one back! Fancy running across you again like this! Most er — rxtraordinary!"
When the waiter returned with a glass of sherry for the Chief Constable the conversation was still more dispiriting. All he had to report to the chambermaids, the house porter, and the chef, was that the detective and the Major seemed to know one another very well, and were swopping yarns about the war.
But when he was out of earshot the conversation took a swift turn. The Chief Constable, having enjoyed a reminiscent chuckle over what had happened in a certain billet behind the lines, stopped laughing, and said in a low voice: "Well, well, you must — er — come and dine with me, Harding. But about this business: you've been up to the Grange?"
"Yes, I've been there, but I haven't reached any conclusions yet," said Harding.
"Naturally not. Quite. I didn't expect it, my dear fellow. You consider it — er — a difficult case?"
"I do indeed, sir. There are too many people mixed up in it."
"My view — er—exactly! You haven't — er — discussed it yet with the Superintendent?"
"Not yet, but I will tomorrow morning," promised Harding.
"Yes, yes, I was sure I could — er — rely on you," said the Major, swallowing the last of his sherry. "Must try not to tread on — er — corns!" With which he took his leave, and bustled out to join his wife in the car outside.