Westenhanger stared at him with admirably acted surprise.
“Are you getting up a charade to amuse the Dangerfield family, or something like that? I don’t think much of the notion, but I’m quite game to join if all the rest of you are in it. Go ahead; don’t let me interrupt.”
He selected a chair near Eileen Cressage and sat down. Freddie bit his lip in vexation. Westenhanger’s entrance had taken him aback; he had not bargained for the presence of anyone except those who came under suspicion. For a moment he thought of arguing the point and contesting Westenhanger’s right to be there at all; but a glance at the engineer’s face showed him the uselessness of any such attempt. Quite obviously Westenhanger meant to sit through the business.
“Get on with it, Freddie,” directed Douglas Fairmile, impatiently. “You can’t expect us to sit here all night merely to look at you, can you?”
Freddie cleared his throat again, and launched into his exposition; but the two interruptions had flustered him a little and he failed to make his points tell as heavily as he had hoped.
“You all know the Dangerfield Talisman’s disappeared. The burglar alarms were all found correctly set in the morning, so obviously nobody could have got into the house from the outside. That limits the thing down to the people in the house. I think that’s plain.”
“Quite plain,” commented Westenhanger. “Self-evident, in fact. Proceed, Freddie.”
“The inmates of the house can be divided into three . . .”
“Just like ancient Gaul, eh?” Douglas explained.
Freddie scowled at the interruption and repeated his phrases.