Abbershaw continued to stare at him, and something in his voice when he spoke startled the boy by its gravity.
‘I don’t know, Michael,’ he said. ‘That’s the devil of it, I don’t know.’
Prenderby opened his mouth to speak, but he was cut short by a tap on the door. It was Jeanne and Meggie.
‘This will have to wait, old boy,’ he murmured as they came in. ‘I’ll come round and have a talk with you if I may, when we get back.’
‘May Michael be moved?’ It was Meggie who spoke. ‘I’m driving Jeanne up to Town,’ she explained, ‘and we wondered if we might take Michael too.’
Prenderby grinned to Abbershaw.
‘As one physician to another,’ he said, ‘perhaps not. But speaking as man to man, I don’t think the atmosphere of this house is good for my aura. I think with proper feminine care and light conversation only, the journey might be effected without much danger, don’t you?’
Abbershaw laughed.
‘I believe in the feminine care,’ he said. ‘I’d like to come with you, but I’ve got the old A.C. in the garage, so I must reconcile myself to a lonely trip.’
‘Not at all,’ said Meggie. ‘You’re taking Mr Campion. Anne and Chris are going up with Martin. Chris’s car is hopeless, and Anne says she’ll never drive again until her nerves have recovered. The garage man is taking her car into Ipswich, and sending it up from there.’