‘My dear fellow, I’m frightfully sorry this has happened. The man shall be discharged tomorrow. I’ll see to it.’ Wyatt spoke with real concern, but Abbershaw was not nearly so easily satisfied.
‘Where did he get at you?’ he said, suddenly stepping forward. ‘Where were you?’
Mr Campion met the question with charming ingenuousness.
‘Just coming out of my room – that’s the door, over there,’ he said. ‘I opened it and walked out into a war.’
He was buttoning up his waistcoat, which had been ripped open in the fight, as he spoke.
Abbershaw glanced at the grandfather clock at the head of the staircase. It showed the hour at eight minutes past four. Mr Campion followed the direction of his eyes.
‘Yes,’ he said foolishly, ‘I – I always get up early.’
‘Amazingly early,’ said Abbershaw pointedly.
‘I was, this morning,’ agreed Mr Campion cheerfully, adding by way of explanation, ‘I’m one of those birds who can never sleep in a strange bed. And then, you know, I’m so afraid of ghosts. I didn’t see any, of course,’ he went on hastily, ‘but I said to myself as I got into bed last night, “Albert, this place smells of ghosts,” and somehow I couldn’t get that idea out of my head all night. So as soon as it began to get light I thought a walk was indicated, so I got up, dressed, and sallied forth into the fray.’ He paused and yawned thoughtfully. ‘I do believe I shall go back to bed now,’ he remarked as they all stared at him. ‘I don’t feel much like my walk now. In fact, I don’t feel much like anything. Bung-ho, everybody, Uncle Albert is now closing down until nine-thirty, when the breakfast programme will begin, I hope.’ On the last word he waved his hand to them and disappeared into his own room, shutting the door firmly behind him.
As Abbershaw turned to go back to his bedroom he became aware of a slender figure in a dressing-gown at his side. It was Meggie. Seized by a sudden impulse, he spoke to her softly.