“My name?” said Henry quickly. “I’ve never heard the north wind make a noise like ‘Henry.’ ”
“Your new name.”
“Oh,” said Henry, “that. Yes, it is rather flatulent, isn’t it?”
“Have you heard how Lady Wutherwood is this morning?”
“I met Tinkerton on the landing. She says Aunt V. slept like a log. ‘Very peaceful,’ Tinkerton said, as if Aunt V. was a corpse.”
“Don’t.”
“I suppose it’s real,” said Henry, returning with eggs and bacon from the side table. “I suppose somebody did kill Uncle G. last night. This morning it scarcely seems credible. What shall we do all day, Robin? Do you imagine if we go out our footsteps will be dogged by a plain-clothes detective? It might be fun to see if we could shake him off. I’ve always thought how easy it must be to lose a follower. Shall we try, or is it too wet?”
“There’s a policeman down in the hall.”
“How inexpressibly deadly for him,” said Henry. “I think the hall is possibly the worst part of this house. When we were small the direst threat Nanny had for us was that we should be sent to live in Brummell Street. Even now I slink past that stuffed bear, half expecting him to reach out and paw me to his bosom.”
“It’s such a large house,” said Roberta, “even the bear looks smallish. Has it been your family’s house for long?”