Тринадцать гостей / Thirteen Guests

It occurred to him that perhaps, after all, the routine of Bragley Court had its little flaws. It should have protected him against the necessity of explaining himself. Yet it was unreasonable to expect some one to be in perpetual attendance on him, and even Lord Aveling’s generously-planned staff did not run to a Cook’s guide. So, after enduring the girl’s curious scrutiny for a moment or two, he remarked bluntly:

“I’ve had an accident, and Lord Aveling’s been good enough to give me temporary shelter.

”

“Bad luck,” said the man. “Not riding, was it?”

“No—a prosaic train. I jumped out while it was moving, and it tried to take my foot on to the next station.”

The man smiled, and held out his case.

“Have one?” he invited. “We smoke anywhere. Reassure him, Anne.”

The girl advanced with a little nod.

“Of course—quite in order,” she said. “I am Lord Aveling’s daughter. And this is Mr. Harold Taverley.”

“Thanks awfully,” answered John.

The momentary awkwardness created by these two had vanished very quickly. “It does help knowing! Mine’s John Foss. And my whole object in life just now is not to be a confounded nuisance. Please don’t delay that bath.”

Anne laughed. Her mouth lost its hardness. She turned and ran upstairs. But her companion lingered.

“Don’t you feel sticky?” asked John.

“Oh, I’ve got a few minutes,” replied Taverley. He had a clear, full voice, but rarely raised it. The retired Pork King could only make his carry when he shouted.

“I suppose there’s nothing I can do?”

“Well—yes, there is,” said John impulsively. This was the kind of fellow you could talk to. “I’d like to know something about the people here. One feels such a fool, you know. Rather like a monkey in a zoo.”

“I know,” smiled Taverley. “That is, if monkeys really do feel like that.” He squatted on a stool. “I suppose you’ll be staying a bit?”

“There’s been some talk of rolling me into an ante-room for the night.

Everybody’s frightfully decent.”

“The ante-room? That’s where—” He paused. “Well, let’s run over the inventory. Who’ve you seen so far?”

“Lord Aveling.”

“He’s easy. Fifth baron. Hopes to be first marquis or earl. Conservative. I hope politics don’t make you feel suicidal?”

“One has to bear them; but I’m not particularly interested.”

“Just as well.