"It's damn bad luck him being here at all. When did he first show up?"
"Last night."
"There's been a mess-up somewhere and I was looking for a clean run home."
"Home, dear?"
"Um! Back to London. How's mother's old car going, Flora?"
"Tiptop."
"Good, I shall need it. I say, I apologise for not saying how-de-do but things have been moving today. Everyone feeling good? Fine. Lord, I'm tired." And he passed a hand tied with a bloodstained handkerchief across his brow.
Mrs. Barraclough was first to notice it and called for an explanation.
"Oh, that's all right—a scratch—bled a bit. Nothing to bother about. Flora, if you leave that window unguarded you're sacked. Jane, if you love me, a large and a small."
"But what is it all about?" Mrs. Barraclough implored after shaking her head at the thought of whiskey.