"We'd better have a look round," said Amberley, and led the way to the library.
Here the confusion was even worse, while the condition of Sir Humphrey's study drew a faint moan from its unfortunate owner. His desk had been ransacked, and all his papers had been cast recklessly onto the floor.
"God bless my soul!" said Sir Humphrey for the third time. "It's a burglary!"
His nephew looked at him with scant respect. "How do you think these things out so quickly?" he inquired. "Hullo Aunt. Come to look at the wreckage?"
Lady Matthews, with her hair in curlers and cold cream on her face, stood in the doorway looking interestedly round. She was not in the least put out. She said: "Dear me, how exciting! Such a muddle! Poor Jenkins! Why the study?"
Amberley nodded. "You have a way of hitting the nail the head, Aunt Marion, though no one would ever think it. Do tell me why you're plastered with white stuff'
"Face cream, my dear. At my age so necessary. Do I look odd?"
"Quite ghastly," Amberley assured her.
Sir Humphrey danced with impatience. "Good God, Frank, what has your aunt's face to do with it? Look at my desk! Look at my papers!"
"Much better look for the silver, dear," said his wife. "Or does Jenkins take it upstairs? Murdered in his bed, perhaps. Someone had better go and find out."