“I understand your feelings,” said Lord Caterham sympathetically. “Try an egg and bacon, or some haddock.”
“A totally unforeseen contingency—national calamity—concessions jeopardized—”
“Take time,” said Lord Caterham. “And take some food. What you need is some food, to pull you together. Poached eggs now? There were some poached eggs here a minute or two ago.”
“I don’t want any food,” said George. “I’ve had breakfast, and even if I hadn’t had any I shouldn’t want it. We must think what is to be done. You have told no one as yet?”
“Well, there’s Bundle and myself. And the local police. And Cartwright. And all the servants of course.”
George groaned.
“Pull yourself together, my dear fellow,” said Lord Caterham kindly. “(I wish you’d have some breakfast.) You don’t seem to realize that you can’t hush up a dead body. It’s got be buried and all that sort of thing. Very unfortunate, but there it is.”
George became suddenly calm.
“You are right, Caterham. You have called in the local police, you say? That will not do. We must have Battle.”
“Battle, murder and sudden death,” inquired Lord Caterham, with a puzzled face.
“No, no, you misunderstand me. I referred to Superintendent Battle of Scotland Yard. A man of the utmost discretion. He worked with us in that deplorable business of the Party Funds.”