“Yes, it was,” said Lord Charles, opening his eyes very wide. “Did you know him?”
“I remember the case, sir.”
“Oh. Ah yes, I suppose you would. Very sad and, for me, quite disastrous.”
“You explained all this to Lord Wutherwood?”
“Oh, yes. And of course he scolded away about it. Indeed, we quite blazed at each other. It’s always been like that. Gabriel would give me hell and we would both get rather angry with each other and then, poor old boy, he would come to the rescue.”
“Did he come to the rescue this time?”
“He didn’t write a cheque there and then,” said Lord Charles. “That was not his way, you know. I expect he wanted me to have a night to think over my wigging and feel properly ashamed of myself.”
“Did he promise to do so?” There was a fraction of a pause.
“Yes,” said Lord Charles.
Alleyn’s pencil whispered across his note-book. He turned a page, flattened it, and looked up. Neither Lord Charles nor Nigel had stirred but now Nigel cleared his throat and took out a cigarette case.