Linnet drew a fluttering breath and said, “Oh, yes,” took another, and said,

“It was Miss Brown who got it.”

“Without any trouble, I hope,” said Gregory Porlock, to Dorinda this time. And the moment he said it Dorinda was perfectly sure that he knew just what had happened at the De Luxe Stores. Their eyes met. Each said something to the other. Gregory’s said, “You see-take care.” Dorinda’s said, “I know.”

And she did. She would never be able to prove it, but she was quite, quite sure that he had pulled the strings which took her to the De Luxe Stores and took someone else there to put stolen goods in her pocket. Why? To get her away from the Oakleys, where she couldn’t help meeting him and might be inconvenient enough to recognize a Wicked Uncle.

She came back to the conversation, to find that practically everyone round the table had entered it. Martin Oakley was saying,

“The stuff has been extraordinarily difficult to get, and we wanted it for Marty’s clock. I was really grateful to you for the tip, Greg. I told my wife to get on with it, as Miss Brown was going up to town.”

Dorinda sorted that out. Gregory Porlock had told Martin Oakley that the De Luxe had luminous paint, and Martin had told his wife. It all fitted in. As she got there, Mrs. Tote said,

“But, Mr. Porlock, whatever did you want with luminous paint?”

Leonard Carroll broke in with a laugh.

“Don’t you know? I guessed at once. He goes creeping round with it in the dead of night looking for kind deeds to do by stealth. The perfect host-nothing escapes him. Comfort for the guest, and a twenty-four hour service-that’s the way it goes.”

Gregory laughed too. Mrs. Tote considered that “that Mr. Carroll” had had quite enough champagne. Something in the acting line, and a bit too free with his tongue. Some of the things he’d been saying to Miss Lane -well, really! And all she did was laugh, when what he wanted was a good setting-down. Give that sort an inch, and they’ll have the whole bolt of cloth before you can turn your head.

Gregory was laughing too.

“I’m afraid I’m not quite as attentive as that. I wanted the paint for that beam which runs across as you go down a step into the cloakroom. I don’t know why they built these old houses up and down like that-I suppose they didn’t bother to get their levels. Anyhow it’s a bit awkward for anyone who doesn’t know his way. You can reach the switch without going down the step, but only just, and you clear the beam if you’re not over six foot, but an extra tall guest is liable to brain himself, and anyone might come a cropper over the step. So I had the bright idea of painting the beam and the switch with luminous paint. By the way, I must apologize for the smell. It’s had one coat, which I hope is dry, but it’s got to have another, so we left the paint in the cupboard.”

Mrs. Oakley said in rather a high voice,

“Marty loves his clock. Martin gave it another coat just before we came out. Marty says he loves to wake up in the night and see it looking at him. He says it’s like a big eye. He has so much imagination.”

Mr. Tote turned a cross red face.

“How can it look like an eye? It’s only the hands that’s painted! Funny sort of an eye!”

Linnet gave a flustered laugh.

“Oh, well-you see-Marty painted the whole face. He didn’t know. And Nurse says it doesn’t matter, because the hands can be painted black, and then she’ll get quite near enough to the time by the position they’re in without bothering about the numbers. And of course Marty doesn’t care so long as it shines in the dark.”

“So shines,” proclaimed Mr, Carroll, “a good deed in this naughty world. Much ado about nothing. Night’s candles are burnt out. Let us eat, drink, and be merry. I could go on for hours like this if anyone would like me to.”

“They wouldn’t,” said Moira.

“Then I’ll tell you the latest, the very latest scandal-night’s scandals being by no means all burnt out.” He dropped his voice, and Justin turned back to Dorinda with the feeling that this was the most ill-assorted company he had ever been in, and that he wouldn’t be sorry when the evening was over.

It was at this moment that it occurred to him to wonder why a man of Gregory Porlock’s unquestionable social gifts should have assembled at his table people so incompatible as the Totes and Leonard Carroll, the Mastermans and Moira Lane, to mention only the extremer instances. To this “Why?” he had no reply, but it was to return and clamour for an answer before the night was out. For the moment he dismissed it and fell into easy, natural talk with Dorinda.

Chapter XVII

You can bring a horse to the water, but you cannot make him drink. Assembled in the drawing-room after dinner, Gregory Porlock’s guests exemplified this proverb. As far as the Totes and the Mastermans were concerned, they might have been compared to a string of mules gazing blankly at a stream at which they had no intention of quenching their thirst.

Neither Mrs. Tote nor Miss Masterman played cards, but Gregory drove them with determination into other games. It is, of course, one way of breaking the ice, but it is not always a very successful way. Required to write down a list of things all beginning with the letter M which she would take to a desert island, under such headings as Food, Drink, Clothes, Livestock, and Miscellaneous, Miss Masterman gave up a perfectly blank sheet, while Mrs. Tote contributed Mice and Mustard. Mr. Carroll’s list was witty, vulgar, and brief; Dorinda’s rather pains-taking; and Gregory’s easily the longest. Mr. Tote declined to participate, and Mr. Masterman was found to be absent. Returning presently, he participated in the second round with a kind of gloomy efficiency, and came in second.

Uphill work as it had been, there was some slight thawing of the frost. When Moira suggested charades, no one except Mr. Tote absolutely refused to play. There was no doubt that the suggestion came from Moira. Everyone was to be clear about that, and that it was Leonard Carroll who violently objected to a charade, as he said that to drive totally incompetent amateurs through one scene would endanger his sanity, but that to attempt three would certainly wreck it, so he wasn’t prepared to go beyond doing a proverb. Whereupon Moira cut in with an “All right, you pick up for one side, and Greg for the other.” And Leonard Carroll put an arm round her shoulders and sang in his high, dry tenor, “You are my first, my only choice!” To which she replied with a short laugh, “You’ll have to take your share, darling. You can’t land Greg with all the rest.”

Gregory at once picked Martin Oakley, thus making it practically certain that Linnet would fall into the other camp.

In the end the party to go out under Leonard Carroll consisted of Mrs. Oakley, Moira, Mr. Masterman, and Mrs. Tote, while Gregory remained in the drawing-room with Miss Masterman, Dorinda, Martin Oakley, and Justin Leigh, Mr. Tote continuing to sit in a large armchair and smoke with an air of having nothing to do with the proceedings. His wife threw him rather an odd look as she left the room. There was apprehension in it, and something like reproof. It is all very well to be angry, but you needn’t forget your manners, and Albert was old enough to know when he’d had as much drink as he could carry. A couple of cocktails, and all that champagne, and goodness knew how much port wine-no wonder he didn’t feel like playing games. Well, no more did she, if it came to that. Games were for young people, and a pretty sight to see them enjoying themselves. They’d always had a Christmas party for Allie. Pretty as a picture she’d look with her fair hair floating.

It was just as the party reached the hall that the butler crossed it on his way to fetch the coffee-tray. He came back with it in a moment, a thin, narrow-shouldered man with a face which reminded Mrs. Tote of a monkey. Something about the way the eyes were set and the way his cheeks fell in. It was the first time she had noticed him. She did so now with pleasurable recollections of taking Allie to the Zoo and seeing the chimpanzees have their tea.