"What is it, dear?" he enquired. "We are going to leave our talk
till after dinner, aren't we?"
She looked him in the face. There was an anxious light in her eyes,
and she was certainly not herself. "Of course! I only wanted to
know--it seemed to me that you broke off in what you were saying to
the inspector, as I came into the room. Are you sure that it was
the lights he came around about? There isn't anything else wrong,
is there?"
"What else could there be?" he asked wonderingly.
"I have no idea," she replied, with well-simulated indifference.
"I was only asking you whether there was anything else?"
He shook his head.
"Nothing!"
She threw herself into an easy-chair and picked up a magazine.
"Thank you," she said. "Do hurry, please. I have a new cook and
she asked particularly whether we were punctual people."
"Six minutes will see me through it," Sir Henry promised, making
for the door. "Come to think of it, I missed my lunch. I think
I'll manage it in five."
CHAPTER VII
Sir Henry was in a pleasant and expansive humour that evening. The
new cook was an unqualified success, and he was conscious of having
dined exceedingly well. He sat in a comfortable easy-chair before
a blazing wood fire, he had just lit one of his favourite brand of
cigarettes, and his wife, whom he adored, was seated only a few
feet away.
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