"What's the matter?" inquired Amberley.
It appeared that Fountain had done something unmannerly, boorish and inexplicable. He had sent a servant over at nine in the morning to ask for the return of his book. Had Frank ever heard anything to equal it?
"Never," said Amberley, not visibly impressed. "Which servant?"
"I fail to see that it matters."
"Nevertheless, it does matter," said Amberley, and rang the bell. When Jenkins came in he put the question to him and learned that it was the valet who had come. "I thought so," said Amberley. "Getting desperate."
Sir Humphrey jabbed his glasses onto his bony nose. "Why did you think so? Are you going to tell me that all this business has something to do with your - your meddlesome investigations for the police?"
"Everything," said Amberley. "Didn't you guess?"
"Damn it, Frank, next time you come and stay in my house…'
"But I'm enjoying it all so much," interposed his wife, emerging from her correspondence. "Shall we be murdered, Frank? I thought these things didn't happen. So very enlightening."
"I hope not, Aunt. I might be, of course. You never know."