“It isn’t midnight,” said Patch.
“Mr. Alleyn is growing fainter,” observed Colin. “He must be going downstairs and roaring as he goes.”
“Perhaps,” suggested Patch, “he’s sitting in the lift and shouting to find out si nous avons parle vrai, au sujet de mon oncle.”
“Patch, darling!” lamented Charlot, “your accent. Honest-ly!”
“Well, I suppose we can’t go and find out,” said Frid with a glance at the back of the constable’s head.
“Good God,” ejaculated Lord Charles. “It is Aunt Kit.”
Through the door into the drawing-room came Lady Katherine Lobe.
“Immy darling,” she whispered, as she embraced Charlot. “So terrible but in a way such a dispensation. His ways are indeed mysterious and no doubt He has chosen this instrument. Charlie, my dear!”
“Aunt Kit, where have you been?”
“To Hampstead. By tube and bus. I should have returned sooner but most unfortunately I caught the wrong bus and then again Mr. Nathan took such a long time. And all for nothing as it turns out. Though even now with the death duties—”