It was at this moment that Mr Campion made the entire party one group again by a single fatuous remark.
‘Of course,’ he said affably, ‘I suppose nobody has pinched anything.’
‘I’ve got two bits of soap in my room,’ murmured Prenderby, ‘but I shouldn’t think that’s what the old bird’s after by the look of him. And look here, Wyatt,’ he added suddenly, ‘there’s something damned queer about something else! I suppose you know –’
Abbershaw interposed hastily.
‘The whole thing is a bit queer, Michael,’ he said, fixing the boy with his eyes. Prenderby took the hint, and was silent, but Wyatt turned to him.
‘I’m beyond apologizing,’ he said. ‘The whole business is quite out of my experience. My uncle asked me to bring a party down for this week-end. He had often done so before. I have met Gideon here before, but never exchanged more than half a dozen words with him. As for that Hun, Dawlish, he’s a complete stranger.’
Prenderby, to whom the words had sounded like a reproach, coloured, and what might have been an uncomfortable pause was covered by the sudden return of Chris Kennedy. He was in high good humour. His handsome young face was flushed with excitement, and the others could not banish the suspicion that he was enjoying the situation thoroughly.
‘They have, the blighters!’ he said, bursting into the group. ‘Not a drain of juice in any of the buses. Otherwise they’re all right, though. “Exhibit A” has vanished, by the way – crumbled into dust, I should think – but apart from that they’re all there.’
‘Meet anyone?’ said Martin.
‘Not a soul,’ said Kennedy cheerfully, ‘and little Christopher Robin has an idea. If I asked you for a drink, Petrie, would you give me ginger-beer?’ There was an air of suppressed jubilation in his tone as he spoke.