“Oh, a gentleman prowling at a loose end.”
“I should say not,” I assured him, “unless he was mightily transmogrified.”
“Well, that delays us again.”
“I suppose the man you mean is, er, Sir Brooke Mortimer.”
“Yes.” His eyes widened. “Now, how did you know that?”
“Pendleton told me before he went to fetch the butler.”
“That’s the man, that’s the man. Irritating, isn’t it? Hughes and some of the other servants have gone in search. That’s why our host takes so long to get Blenkinson, who must be busy.”
“You don’t tell me the servants have gone out to scour for him!”
“He’s such an irregular blighter, you know. May have tried to walk it from New Aidenn or even from somewhere else on the line. They’re going to telephone down when the station-master comes for the evening train. You see, he wasn’t due on any particular train, but they expected him to send word ahead. So they’re in a pretty pass.”
“What’s the man look like?”