There was a corresponding largeness about the tray with glasses and decanters which was being brought in by a parlourmaid. And Bertram Coulson, although he wore a preoccupied air, turned to her disapprovingly. ‘These things are too heavy for you, Jane. You ought not to be single-handed. Where is Hollywood?’ Jane looked disconcerted. ‘If you please, sir, Mr Hollywood is nowhere to be found. And Mrs Roberts said I had better bring the things myself.’ ‘Then Mrs Roberts was quite right. But surely it isn’t Hollywood’s evening off?’ ‘No, sir. But nobody can find him.’ The parlourmaid fled. Bertram Coulson turned back to his guests with an air of having to apologize for having thus aired a purely domestic matter. ‘Sir John is in charge,’ he said. ‘And I see no need for any preliminaries. We are all known to each other. Except, possibly, this gentleman? And Coulson turned rather dubiously towards the innkeeper from the Three Leggers. ‘David Channing-Kennedy, sir’ Mr Channing-Kennedy had thought it proper to put on a purple velvet smoking jacket of Edwardian suggestion to visit Scroop, and he was thus in a much grander turnout than anybody else.
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