He was pale, his face was drawn and his hands were unsteady. During the complete silence that followed Bertie’s ejaculation, Richard stood where he was, his gaze fixed with extraordinary concentration upon Colonel Warrender. Warrender, in his turn, looked at him with, as far as his soldierly blueprint of a face could express anything, the same kind of startled attention. In a crazy sort of way, each might have been the reflection of the other. Warrender said, “Can I have a word with you, old boy? Shall we…?” “No!” Richard said quickly and then, “I’m sorry. I don’t understand. What’s that dammed bobby doing in the hall? What’s happened? Where’s everybody? Where’s Mary?” Alleyn said, “One moment,” and went to him. “You’re Mr. Richard Dakers, aren’t you? I’m from Scotland — Yard — Alleyn …At the moment I’m in charge of a police inquiry here. Shall we find somewhere where I can tell you why?”
