"Ludlow?" said Sir Humphrey, taken aback. "My love, we have had Ludlow in our employment for over ten years! What in the world makes you suppose that he can have anything to do with this shocking affair?"
"I'm sure he hasn't," replied his wife. "I find that nothing of that nature ever really happens to one. But in this book' - she dived her hand among the sofa-cushions and produced a novel in a lurid jacket - "it was the chauffeur. So unnerving."
Sir Humphrey put on his pince-nez again and took the book. "The Stalking Death," he read. "My dear, surely this doesn't entertain you?"
"Not very much," she admitted. "The nice man turned out to be a villain after all. I think that's so unfair when one had become quite fond of him. Frank, did I tell you to bring a fancy dress?"
"You did, Aunt. Who are these Fountains? New?"
"Oh no, not new. Surely you remember old Mr. Fountain? Though why you should I can't imagine, for he went nowhere. He's dead."
"Is that why he went nowhere?" inquired Frank.
"Not at all, dear. How should I know his movements now? How long has jasper Fountain been dead, Humphrey?"
Two years, or rather longer if my memory serves me."
"I expect it does. I never liked the man but at least one never saw very much of him, and Felicity did not insist on becoming intimate with that girl - not that I have anything against her. Far from it; I am sure she is charming, but I always disliked Basil and I daresay I always shall. How is your mother, dear boy?"