“I don’t think you’re ever quite fair to Lettice.”
“Don’t you?” said Griselda.
“Lots of people don’t wear mourning.”
Griselda was silent and so was I. Dennis continued:
“She doesn’t talk to most people, but she does talk to me. She’s awfully worried about the whole thing, and she thinks something ought to be done about it.”
“She will find,” I said, “that Inspector Slack shares her opinion. He is going up to Old Hall this afternoon, and will probably make the life of everybody there quite unbearable to them in his efforts to get at the truth.”
“What do you think is the truth, Len?” asked my wife suddenly.
“It’s hard to say, my dear. I can’t say that at the moment I’ve any idea at all.”
“Did you say that Inspector Slack was going to trace that telephone call—the one that took you to the Abbotts?”
“Yes.”
“But can he do it? Isn’t it a very difficult thing to do?”
“I should not imagine so. The Exchange will have a record of the calls.”
“Oh!” My wife relapsed into thought.
“Uncle Len,” said my nephew, “why were you so ratty with me this morning for joking about your wishing Colonel Protheroe to be murdered?”