“Is it quite true, Mr. Greetland?” The tone implied an amount of incredulity which compelled a spirited justification.
“Absolutely, Countess. I was just saying that the discovery will be in the papers to-morrow.”
His questioner smiled. “Does that make it true?”
“It will at least bring the story to its proof. The Duchess won’t let it pass if it is a canard: she doesn’t need advertisement. But I happen to know it is quite true.”
“I am sure Mr. Greetland would rather be dull than unauthentic, as the lesser of the two crimes.” The sarcasm was none the less stinging from being shot through the sweetest of smiles.
“The Duke has been trying to hush it up,” Lady Rotherfield put in.
Countess Alexia laughed. “All the details complete. And of course the owner of the sword has been found.”
“I think not,” said Greetland.
“Probably the Duke knows, as he was so anxious to hush up the affair,” the Countess continued, in her fascinating banter. “Poor Duke, he had better be careful, or he will be arrested as what you call an accessory after the fact, which would be a sensation, if you like. Always supposing, that is, that poor Reggie Martindale did not die of heart disease.”
“That has been clearly proved, Countess,” Greetland said, glad of one firm foothold in stemming the increasing flow of increduilty.