The elder man picked his remarks up eagerly. “You’ve hit on something to think about, then? That’s more than I’ve done, though I’ve been racking my brains since midnight. That detective fellow don’t seem much better off either.”
“Oh, Boyd’s a very good man,” Anthony said. “He generally gets somewhere.”
“Well, I hope so.” Sir Arthur sighed. “This is a terrible business, Gethryn. Terrible! I can’t talk much about it yet—poor old John. Did you know him at all?”
“No. Shook hands with him once at some feed, that’s all.”
“You’d have liked him, Gethryn. He—we’d best not talk about it. God! What an outcry there’ll be—is already, in fact.”
“Yes,” said Anthony. “A blow to England and a boon to Fleet Street. Look here, don’t let me keep you. I hope Mrs.—Mrs. Lemesurier appreciates the beauty of her house.”
“Charming, isn’t it? Gleason built it, you know.” He paused, and Anthony feared his bait unswallowed. They had arrived at the gate to the garden. Over the hedge showed lawns, flowers, and the house. Anthony had not been merely diplomatic when he had praised its beauty. It was a building in the best modern manner and in its way as good to look upon as Abbotshall.
Anthony made as if to leave.
But Sir Arthur had swallowed the bait. “Look here, Gethryn,” he said; “why not come in with me? The inside’s more worth seeing than the out. And I’d like you to meet Lucia and her sister. They’d be glad to see you too. They were expecting another to lunch besides me—young Deacon, John’s secretary. He wouldn’t come. He’s very busy, and being young, I suppose he feels it’d be a sin to enjoy himself in any way to-day. Silly, but I like him for it. He don’t know the necessity yet for doing anything to keep sane.” He laid a hand on Anthony’s arm. “Do come along.”
Anthony allowed himself to be persuaded. They walked through the garden and then round the house to the front door. They were shown by a cool, delightful maid to a cool, delightful drawing-room.