‘What was that?’ she said.
The violence of his reply surprised her.
‘Damn them!’ he said explosively. ‘The only piece of real evidence there was against them. That was the body of Colonel Coombe.’
CHAPTER VIII
Open Warfare
Breakfast that morning showed every promise of being a gloomy and uncomfortable meal.
Wyatt had discreetly announced his uncle’s death, and the news had circulated amongst the guests with inevitable speed.
The general opinion was that a tactful farewell and a speedy departure was the obvious procedure of the day. The story of the old man’s last wish had not tended greatly to alter anyone’s decision, as it was clear that no party was likely to be a success, or even bearable in such circumstances. The wishes of the dead seemed more kindly in intention than in fact.
Wyatt seemed very crestfallen, and a great deal of sympathy was felt for him; events could not well have turned out more unfortunately for him. He sat at the end of the table, a little paler than usual, but otherwise the same graceful, courteous scholar as ever. He wore the coloured tie of one of the more obscure Oxford clubs, and had not attempted to show any outward signs of mourning.
Albert Campion, looking none the worse for his nocturnal adventure, sat next to Anne Edgeware. They were talking quietly together, and from the sullen look upon Chris Kennedy’s handsome face it was evident to anybody who cared to see that the irrepressible young lady was indulging in the harmless feminine sport of encouraging one admirer in order to infuriate and thereby gain the interest of another more valued suitor – even though the occasion was so inauspicious. Mr Campion was amazingly suited to his present role, and in low tones they planned their journey back to town together. Coming departures were indeed a subject for the general conversation of the rather dispirited assembly in the big sunlit hall.
Michael Prenderby was late for breakfast, and he came in, a trifle flushed and hurried, and took his place at the table between little Jeanne Dacre, his fiancée, and Martin Watt, the black-haired beaky youngster whom Meggie had described as ‘Just a stray young man’. He was, in point of fact, a chartered accountant in his father’s office, a pleasing youth with more brains than energy.