“I’m so sorry you should say that,” Lomas sighed. “Now I wonder if you have particular reason for wanting Sir Arthur’s papers at once?”
“My good sir, I am his executor. It’s my duty to take charge of his papers.”
“Quite, quite. Well, they’re all safe, you know. His death must have been a great shock to you, Colonel.”
“Shock, sir? A blow, a blow. Poor dear Arthur!”
“Yes, too bad,” Lomas mourned: and voice and face were all kindly innocence as he babbled on: “I suppose you heard about it from his son?”
Colonel Osbert paused to clear his throat. Colonel Osbert stopped that one. “Major Dean? No, sir. No. Point of fact, I don’t know who the fellow was. Some fellow called me up on the ’phone and told me poor dear Arthur had fallen down dead on the course. Upon my soul, I was knocked over, absolutely knocked over. When I came to myself I rushed round to secure his papers.”
“Why, did you think somebody would be after them?”
“My dear sir!” Colonel Osbert protested. “Really, now really. It was my duty. Arthur was always very strict with his papers. I thought of his wishes.”
“Quite, quite,” Lomas purred, and artless as ever he went on: “Mrs. Dean was round at the flat too.”
“God bless my soul!” said Colonel Osbert.