“You think,” said the Superintendent stolidly, “that I might be recognised?”
“I did think so—yes—” admitted Bundle.
Something that might conceivably have been intended for a smile crossed the woodenness of Superintendent Battle’s features.
“Put them on their guard, eh? Well, Lady Eileen, why not?”
“Why not?” echoed Bundle—rather stupidly, she felt.
Superintendent Battle was nodding his head slowly.
“We don’t want any unpleasantness, do we?” he said. “Don’t want to be too clever—just show any light-fingered gentry that may be about—well, just show them that there’s somebody on the spot, so to speak.”
Bundle gazed at him in some admiration.
She could imagine that the sudden appearance of so renowned a personage as Superintendent Battle might have a depressing effect on any scheme and the hatchers of it.
“It’s a great mistake to be too clever,” Superintendent Battle was repeating. “The great thing is not to have any unpleasantness this weekend.”
Bundle passed on, wondering how many of her fellow guests had recognised or would recognise the Scotland Yard detective. In the drawing-room George was standing with a puckered brow and an orange envelope in his hand.
“Most vexatious,” he said. “A telegram from Mrs. Macatta to say she will be unable to be with us. Her children are suffering from mumps.”
Bundle’s heart gave a throb of relief.