Over the soup, Freddie was still a prey to gloom. For once the healing gin-and-vermouth had failed to do its noble work. He sipped sombrely, so sombrely as to cause comment from his host.
“Pipped?” enquired Algy solicitously.
“Pretty pipped,” admitted Freddie.
“Backed a loser?”
“No.”
“Something wrong with the old tum?”
“No. … Worried.”
“Worried?”
“About Derek.”
“Derek? Who’s … ? Oh, you mean Underhill?”