“Great Scott, is everyone in the House as indifferent as you two? Am I the only one who remembers there was a massacre last night?”
“Well,” hesitated he, “I suppose that those signs and evidences—at night—”
“You mean, now it’s good broad morning sunlight, everyone has calmed?”
“Considerably, Mr. Bannerlee. Even Miss Mertoun, who saw that horror, wanted to go out of doors this morning, but Miss Lebetwood forbade it.”
“Miss Mertoun!” I looked up astonished from sausage and bacon and steaming coffee.
“Last night, you know, we supposed that she would have to remain in bed half a week. But a blue morning sky re-creates the world, and people. Besides, a couple of the most painful enigmas are considerably lightened. What do you lack? Milk?”
“Yes.”
“You won’t find any, I’m afraid. The milkman’s man—we’ve had it over the ’phone—is in the throes of a nervous breakdown.”
“Doesn’t Crofts keep a cow of his own?”
“He does, but the beast has failed ignobly. Well, as I was saying, last evening’s troubles are mostly dissipated.”