“I’m sure you’re all worn out,” he said, longing to be rid of the pack of them. “I’ll go and see about your rooms at once.”
“Quite the châtelain,” drawled Gerald, throwing himself down beside Ellen. He lowered his voice suddenly. “Well, you lost! She is not here!” A sluggish gleam of triumph flickered in his eyes.
Ellen laughed.
“Don’t you fool yourself. Everything points to it. From the condition of Petrovskey’s hair when we arrived, to the jewel case. Besides, I smell her perfume.” She sniffed audibly. “It’s the mixture Bazani put up for her, himself. Very faint, but gets there, my boy.”
He laughed disagreeably. “So do you, Ellen. You make me feel like Dr. Watson. You win the gold needled hypodermic.”
“What are you sniffling about? Have you, too, caught cold?” Olive sat down on the sofa opposite. “Isn’t it too exciting to be laid up here all night? I just adore Petrovskey! He is so cold and wonderful-looking, so distingay!”
“Almost as ’aughty as an English butler,” snarled Gerald, his eyes upon the other end of the room, where Caldenas was examining a portrait with the aid of a small magnifying glass.
Alexis returned.
“Your rooms are ready.” His eyes darted from one face to the other. “Would you like to go to bed?”
Ellen rose with a yawn, her hand clapped against her mouth rhythmically. “Do show us the house first.”