“Oh, all right,” muttered Crofts. “But it’s the police you’ll have to convince, really.”
“I’ll deal with the police,” said Mrs. Belvoir.
“As for Sir Brooke’s absence,” I remarked, “why may he not be present? Perhaps we shall have a message from him, Mrs. Belvoir.”
I think she discerned levity in me. “Really, Mr. Bannerlee, you may be surprised by having that very thing happen.” She glided from the room.
Crofts looked at me bitterly, as if he held me responsible for the whole business, but instead of pouring out vials of wrath he said, “How about a drink, Bannerlee? I need one.”
“Oh, Crofts,” reproached Alberta, “you know it’s still morning.”
“Well, I haven’t had one so far, have I?” he retorted, ringing, and stared in oafish surprise when she departed promptly from the room. “What have I done now, I’d like to know?”
“You are getting peppered from all directions,” I laughed. “But cheer up, old man,” I added, hearing a measured tread in the corridor. “This staff of servants of yours certainly outdoes the crew of any sinking ship I’ve ever heard of in devotion to duty. After last night’s catastrophe—well, they deserve medals, platinum ones.”
Soames slid in and Crofts said, “Whiskey,” cocking an eye at me to see if I approved.
“Yes, and by the way, Soames,” I called, while the servant turned on his heel, “just tell us the truth, will you? Why aren’t you and Morgan and the rest fifty miles away from here and running for your lives?”