“You hate mystery, don’t you?” She spoke lightly, but he detected nervousness, and saw troubled eyes.
“I do,” he replied emphatically. “But if this mystery doesn’t concern you, my dearest . . .”
“But it does. Perhaps I had better prepare you. After all, mother asks your help, because I am so concerned in your giving it.”
He recovered his geniality at once.
“If that is the case, dear, the help shall be given. Be sure of that.”
She sat down upon the big couch facing her father’s portrait. It was too hot to go out. He sat beside her and captured her hand which lay, he thought, too passively in his. Within five minutes he understood exactly what was expected of him, and rose finely to the emergency.
“Why, of course. Any possibility of a public inquiry must be burked. I know what to do. I can deal with the three culprits, Snitterfield, Gridley and the Sanitary Inspector. And I’ll undertake more, provided . . .”
“Yes?”
“That your mother allows me a free hand.”
“Mr. Grimshaw said that would be necessary.”