“I’ve suddenly remembered that I sent Willoughby over to Mon Repos ten minutes ago to find out why you were so long. He’s probably being murdered.”
“Oh, I shouldn’t think so. To go back to what I was saying——”
“You must go and see at once.”
“Do you really think it’s necessary?”
“Of course it is.”
“Oh, very well.”
Sam rose reluctantly. Life, he felt with considerable peevishness, was one long round of interruptions. He went round to the door of Mon Repos and let himself in with his key. A rumble of voices proceeding from the drawing-room greeted him as he entered. He banged the door, and a moment later Mr. Braddock came out, looking a little flustered.
“Oh, there you are, Sam! I was just coming round to fetch you.”
“Anything wrong?”
“It depends on what you call wrong.” Mr. Braddock closed the drawing-room door carefully. “You know Lord Tilbury?”