Patch wandered to the door where she turned. “He hardly asked me anything,” she said. “Only what we were all doing in the dining-room when—”
“ Pas pour le jeune homme,” said Frid warningly.
Patch made a rapid grimace at the constable’s chair and opened the door.
“Here, wait a minute,” cried Frid in alarm. But she was too late: Patch had gone.
“Look here,” said Frid to the constable, “can I go after her? I want to ask her something.”
“I’m afraid you can’t, Miss. I can ask the young lady to come back, if it’s any use,” offered the constable, who had risen to his feet.
“I don’t think it is,” said Frid gloomily. “Her French isn’t up to it.” She wandered in a desultory manner round the room.
Lord Charles came in from the hall and went to the fireplace. He leant his arms on the mantelpiece and his head on his arms.
“Well, old man,” said Charlot.
“Well, Immy,” he said without changing his position, “they’ve taken him away. You didn’t know him when he was a young man, did you?”