“Oh! dear,” said Griselda, throwing herself into an arm-chair.
“How I would like a thrill of some kind. A murder – or even a burglary.”
“I don’t suppose there’s any one much worth burgling,” said Lawrence, trying to enter into her mood. “Unless we stole Miss Hartnell’s false teeth.”
“They do click horribly,” said Griselda. “But you’re wrong about there being no one worth while. There’s some marvellous old silver at Old Hall. Trencher salts and a Charles II. Tazza – all kinds of things like that. Worth thousands of pounds, I believe.”
“The old man would probably shoot you with an army revolver,” said Dennis. “Just the sort of thing he’d enjoy doing.”
“Oh! we’d get in first and hold him up,” said Griselda. “Who’s got a revolver?”
“I’ve got a Mauser pistol,” said Lawrence.
“Have you? How exciting. Why do you have it?”
“Souvenir of the war,” said Lawrence briefly.
“Old Protheroe was showing the silver to Stone to-day,” volunteered Dennis. “Old Stone was pretending to be no end interested in it.”
“I thought they’d quarrelled about the barrow,” said Griselda.
“Oh! they’ve made that up,” said Dennis. “I can’t think what people want to grub about in barrows for, anyway.”
“That man Stone puzzles me,” said Lawrence. “I think he must be very absent-minded. You’d swear sometimes he knew nothing about his own subject.”
“That’s love,” said Dennis. “Sweet Gladys Cram, you are no sham. Your teeth are white and fill me with delight. Come fly with me, my bride to be. And at the Blue Boar, on the bedroom floor -”
“That’s enough, Dennis,” I said.
“Well,” said Lawrence Redding, “I must be off. Thank you very much, Mrs. Clement, for a very pleasant evening.”
Griselda and Dennis saw him off. Dennis returned to the study alone. Something had happened to ruffle the boy. He wandered about the room aimlessly, frowning and kicking the furniture.
Our furniture is so shabby already that it can hardly be damaged further, but I felt impelled to utter a mild protest.
“Sorry,” said Dennis.
He was silent for a moment and then burst out:
“What an absolutely rotten thing gossip is!”
I was a little surprised. “What’s the matter?” I asked.
“I don’t know whether I ought to tell you.”
I was more and more surprised.
“It’s such an absolutely rotten thing,” Dennis said again. “Going round and saying things. Not even saying them. Hinting them. No, I’m damned – sorry – if I tell you! It’s too absolutely rotten.”
I looked at him curiously, but I did not press him further. I wondered very much, though. It is very unlike Dennis to take anything to heart.
Griselda came in at that moment.
“Miss Wetherby’s just rung up,” she said. “Mrs. Lestrange went out at a quarter-past eight and hasn’t come in yet. Nobody knows where she’s gone.”
“Why should they know?”
“But it isn’t to Dr. Haydock’s. Miss Wetherby does know that, because she telephoned to Miss Hartnell who lives next door to him and who would have been sure to see her.”
“It is a mystery to me,” I said, “how any one ever gets any nourishment in this place. They must eat their meals standing up by the window so as to be sure of not missing anything.”
“And that’s not all,” said Griselda, bubbling with pleasure. “They’ve found out about the Blue Boar. Dr. Stone and Miss Cram have got rooms next door to each other, BUT” – she waved an impressive forefinger – “no communicating door!”
“That,” I said, “must be very disappointing to everybody.”
At which Griselda laughed.
Thursday started badly. Two of the ladies of my parish elected to quarrel about the church decorations. I was called in to adjudicate between two middle-aged ladies, each of whom was literally trembling with rage. If it had not been so painful, it would have been quite an interesting physical phenomenon.
Then I had to reprove two of our choir boys for persistent sweet sucking during the hours of divine service, and I had an uneasy feeling that I was not doing the job as wholeheartedly as I should have done.
Then our organist, who is distinctly “touchy,” had taken offence and had to be smoothed down.