“Oh, it’ll turn up all right. I shouldn’t worry. Won’t you people come down and bathe? It’s just the morning for it.”
They allowed themselves to be persuaded.
Westenhanger paid little attention to the incident of the mirror. His mind was busy with a scheme which had been concerted between himself and Douglas on the previous night. The list of suspects had now been reduced to four; and it only remained to discover the left-handed person in this limited group.
A midday change in the weather favoured their plans. During lunch a thin rain began, and it soon became evident that the afternoon would be wet. With a little tactful management, the two men succeeded in carrying off Wraxall and Eric Dangerfield to the billiard-room.
“What about it?” inquired Douglas, indicating the cue-rack.
Eric shook his head with a smile.
“Leave me out,” he said, indicating his lame ankle. “I can’t stand on two feet with any comfort yet, much less lean over the table.”
“You, then, Wraxall?” Douglas suggested.
But the American declined his offer.
“I’ve seen you play. I’m not in your class.”