At this colossal piece of impudence a sensation ran round the table, and Wyatt sprang to his feet. He was livid with anger, but he kept his voice under perfect control, and the polished intensity of his icy tone contrasted sharply with the other’s heavy rudeness.
‘Mr Dawlish,’ he said, ‘I think your anxiety to recover your property has upset your sense of proportion. Perhaps you are aware that you are a guest in a house that is mine, and that the people that you have just insulted are my guests also. If you will come to me after breakfast – before you go – I will do all I can to institute a proper search for the thing you have mislaid.’
The German did not move. He stood at the head of the table and stared unblinkingly at the man before him.
‘Until it is returned to me nobody leaves this house,’ he said, the same solid force behind his tone. Wyatt’s snub he did not appear to have heard. A faint wave of colour passed over the young man’s pale face, and he turned to the others, who were staring from one to the other in frank astonishment.
‘I must apologize,’ he said. ‘I ask you to forgive this extraordinary display. My uncle’s death appears to have turned this unfortunate man’s brain.’
Dawlish turned.
‘That young man,’ he said. ‘Let him sit down and be quiet.’
Gideon smiled at Wyatt, and the look on his grey decadent face was an insult in itself.
‘My dear Mr Petrie,’ he said, and his peculiarly oily voice was suave and ingratiating, ‘I don’t think you quite realize the position you are in, you and your friends. Consider: this house is two miles from the public road. There is no telephone. We have two women servants and six men and a gate-keeper. All of these people are in Mr Dawlish’s employ. Your cars have been drained of petrol. I am afraid you are entirely helpless.’ He paused, and allowed his glance to take in the amazed expressions round the table.
‘It would be better,’ he continued, ‘to listen rationally, for I must warn you, my friend Mr Dawlish is not a man who is accustomed to any opposition to his wishes.’