A roar of laughter greeted this candid confession of future intentions. Even Mr. Beckett-Smythe and the vicar joined in.
“Why did you wish to keep this girl, Angèle Saumarez, away from her residence?”
“She’s a jolly sort of girl, and I think we were all a bit off our heads,” said Frank ruefully.
“But you had some motive, some design. Remember, you fought to retain her.”
“I wish I hadn’t,” said the boy, glancing at his father. His most active memory was of a certain painful interview on Wednesday night.
“You were not groggy on your legs,” was Mr. Stockwell’s first remark to Ernest. “What did you hear or see beyond the garden hedge?”
“There was a lot of yelling, and two women ran toward the hotel. The woman with a knife was threatening to stick it into somebody, but I couldn’t tell who.”
“Ah. She was running after the other woman. Don’t you think she might have been threatening her only?”
“It certainly looked like it.”
“Can’t you help us by being more definite?”