"It distresses me very much to see you making such a fool of yourself," said Sir Humphrey austerely. "No, you needn't tell me. I am well aware that you are going on police business, and I should have a better opinion of you if you ceased to meddle in matters that don't in the least concern you." He followed his wife to the door and turned back when he reached it to add: "And don't step on the fifth stair when you come in, unless you, wish to wake us all up."
"Not the fifth, dear. The fourth," corrected Lady Matthews.
"I won't step on either," promised Amberley.
Left alone downstairs he wandered into the library and went over to the bookshelves to choose some suitable literature. He presently retired to the chair by the desk armed with Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy, and sat reading for over an hour, the telephone at his elbow. Occasionally he glanced at his wrist watch and as the time wore on, he frowned.
Shortly after midnight the telephone bell rang shrilly.
Amberley lifted the receiver off the hook and said: "Hullo?"
The conversation was a very short one and confined on Amberley's part to three words only. He listened to what the voice at the other end had to say, replied: "All right. Thanks," and hung up the receiver. Then he consulted his pocketbook and rang up a number in Upper Nettlefold. After a prolonged wait the man at the exchange informed him that there was no answer. Mr. Amberley suggested gently that the exchange could try again. There was another pause, then a slightly testy and very sleepy voice said. "Ullo!" with undue emphasis.
Mr. Amberley grinned. "Good evening, Sergeant. How are you?"
The voice lost its testiness. "Is that you, Mr. Amberley? What is it, sir?"
"I just rang up to know whether you were asleep," said Mr. Amberley.