“Hi, Auguste. What’s ’a matter?”
“Is only one of the pieces does not come back with the serving-table, Mister Lanerd. So we make check-off. I find it is mizzing. I come back for it, is all.”
“What piece?” I asked.
“A knife, Mister Fine. One of our bone-handled sszteak knifes. Perhaps you haf seen it?”
“No,” I told him. “But I’ll have a look around for it.”
“Pardon, Mister Fine. Is not my intention to bozzer you.”
“That’s all right, Auguste. If I find it, I’ll let you know.”
He said, “Thank you ferry much,” and, “Good efening, Mister Lanerd,” and bowed himself out. I thought he looked more unhappy than usual. If that was possible.
Dow Lanerd slapped my shoulder. “Well, now you’ve been taken behind the scenes, Vine—”
“Haven’t been,” I said. “But I’m going to have a look there, right now.”