“Where’s Mr. Maidstone?” he said.
I replied that he had not come.
“I imagine,” I said, “that he has been detained.”
“Detained?” he cried. “Why should he be detained? What should have detained him? It’s ten past nine.”
“Even so,” I replied.
“Then kindly inform me,” he went on, “why you have taken advantage of his absence.”
I looked at him gravely.
“I am not aware,” I said, “of having done any such thing.”
“Not aware?” he said. “Not aware, sir? Where’s Miss Botterill? Put this chair back.”
He rose to his feet and stood glaring at me, still pointing his umbrella at the counter.