eggs now? There were some poached eggs here a minute or two ago.”
“I don’t want any food,” said George. “I’ve had breakfast, and even if I hadn’t had any I shouldn’t want it. We must think what is to be done. You have told no one as yet?”
“Well, there’s Bundle and myself. And the local police. And Cartwright. And all the servants, of course.”
George groaned.
“Pull yourself together, my dear fellow,” said Lord Caterham kindly. “(I wish you’d have some breakfast.) You don’t seem to realize that you can’t hush up a dead body. It’s got to be buried and all that sort of thing. Very unfortunate, but there it is.”
George became suddenly calm.
“You are right, Caterham. You have called in the local police, you say? That will not do. We must have Battle.”
“Battle, murder and sudden death?” inquired Lord Caterham, with a puzzled face.
“No, no, you misunderstand me. I referred to Superintendent Battle of Scotland Yard. A man of the utmost discretion. He worked with us in that deplorable business of the Party Funds.”
“What was that?” asked Lord Caterham, with some interest.
But George’s eye had fallen upon Bundle, as she sat half in and half out of the window, and he remembered discretion just in time. He rose.
“We must waste no time. I must send off some wires at once.”
“If you write them out, Bundle will send them through the telephone.”
George pulled out a fountain pen and began to write with incredible rapidity. He handed the first one to Bundle, who read it with a great deal of interest.
“God! what a name,” she remarked. “Baron How Much?”
“Baron Lolopretjzyl.”
Bundle blinked.
“I’ve got it, but it will take some conveying to the post office.”
George continued to write. Then he handed his labours to Bundle and addressed the master of the house:
“The best thing that you can do, Caterham”
78
