Slinking down the hall, far more like a thief than like the master of the house, Lord Caterham gained the shelter of his sanctum. Here he unlocked a cupboard and produced various bottles.
“Talking to foreigners always makes me so thirsty,” he explained apologetically. “I don’t know why it is.”
There was a knock on the door, and Virginia popped her head round the corner of it.
“Got a special cocktail for me?” she demanded.
“Of course,” said Lord Caterham hospitably. “Come in.”
The next few minutes were taken up with serious rites.
“I needed that,” said Lord Caterham with a sigh, as he replaced his glass on the table. “As I said just now, I find talking to foreigners particularly fatiguing. I think it’s because they’re so polite. Come along. Let’s have some lunch.”
He led the way to the dining-room. Virginia put her hand on Anthony’s arm, and drew him back a little.
“I’ve done my good deed for the day,” she whispered. “I got Lord Caterham to take me to see the body.”
“Well?” demanded Anthony eagerly.
One theory of his was to be proved or disproved.
Virginia was shaking her head.
“You were wrong,” she whispered. “It’s Prince Michael all right.”
“Oh!” Anthony was deeply chagrined.