He was met in the hall by his cousin, a mischievous damsel of eighteen, who demanded to know what had happened to him.
He pulled off his coat and cast Miss Matthews a withering glance. "Your short way," he said scathingly.
Felicity giggled. "You are an ass, Frank. Did you get lost?"
"Very." He turned as his aunt came out into the hall. "Sorry, Aunt Marion. Not my fault. Am I too late for dinner?"
Lady Matthews embraced him and said vaguely: "Dear Frank! Dreadfully late, and a cheese souffle! Darling, tell somebody about Frank. Oh, here is Jenkins! Jenkins, Mr. Amberley has arrived."
She smiled charmingly upon her nephew and drifted away again towards the drawing room. Amberley grinned and called after her: "Aunt Marion, need I change?"
"Change, dear boy? No, of course not. You haven't lost your luggage, have you?"
"No, but it's past nine."
"Dreadful, my dear. We were afraid of an accident."
Felicity tugged at her cousin's sleeve. "Frank, you couldn't have got lost for a whole hour! Own up! You started late!"
"You're a little beast, Felicity. Let me go, I must have a wash."
He came downstairs again five minutes later and was escorted by Felicity to the dining room. While he ate she sat with her elbows on the table, propping her chin in her hands.
"The ball," she announced, "is on Wednesday." Frank groaned. "Did you bring a fancy dress?" Felicity said anxiously.
"I did."
"What is it?" demanded Felicity, agog with female interest.
"Mephistopheles. Suits my style of beauty."
She was doubtful. "I don't really mind about that," she informed him. "You see, I'm going as a Powder-Puff, and you won't suit my style at all."
"God forbid. A Powder-Puff! Look here, what is this ball about, and why, and where?"
Her brown eyes opened to their widest extent. "Good Lord, didn't Mummy tell you in her letter?"
He laughed. "Aunt Marion's letters are exactly like her conversation - the important bits left out."
"Well, it's at Norton Manor. Joan's engaged."
"Joan?"
"You know! Joan Fountain. You must have met her here."
"Fair girl with eyes? Who's the man?"
"Oh, rather an angel. His name's Corkran. He's got pots of money, I believe. Anyway they're engaged, and the ball is sort of in honour of it."
"Half a minute. What's this chap's Christian name?"
"Corkran? Tony. Why?"
Frank raised his brows. "Old Corks! I thought it must be. He was at school with me."
"How delightful for him!" said Miss Matthews politely.
At that moment the door opened and a tall, thin man with white hair came in. Frank got up. "Evening, Uncle."
Sir Humphrey shook hands. "Well, Frank? I've only just heard that you'd arrived. What kept you?"
"Felicity, sir. She told me a short way from town. It wasn't."
"So the great Mr. Amberley got lost! The mighty are fallen, Frank."
"Fraid so, sir."
"The whole truth is, he didn't start in time," said Felicity indignantly. "And it's no use saying you were busy, Frank, because I know quite well you're - what is it barristers get into in the summer, Daddy? Recess, or something. I say, Daddy, he says he knows Joan's young man."
Sir Humphrey, observing that his nephew had come to the end of his repast, pushed the port decanter towards him. "Indeed? A singularly brainless young man, one would be led to infer, but I believe of excellent family. These fancy-dress festivities, I understood, are to celebrate the engagement. Felicity is very friendly with Miss Fountain."
It was apparent to Mr. Amberley that the friendship did not meet with Sir Humphrey's whole-hearted approval. He searched his brain for data concerning the Fountains and found it void.
Felicity was called away to the telephone. Frank cracked and peeled a nut. "That wasn't entirely true."
"What was not entirely true?" inquired Sir Humphrey, refilling his glass.
"Oh - my losing my way. I did, but not for an hour. I stumbled on a murder."
"God bless my soul!" ejaculated Sir Humphrey, feeling for his pince-nez. He fixed them on his bony nose and regarded his nephew in great astonishment. "Who's been murdered?"
"I've no idea. Middle-aged man respectably dressed. Couldn't place him. Might have been a tradesman. Something like that. He was in an Austin Seven on the Pittingly Road."
"Tut, tut, tut!" said Sir Humphrey, much perturbed. "Shocking! Shocking! No doubt a case of these road bandits."
"It might have been," replied his nephew noncommittally.
"Better say nothing to your aunt and cousin," recommended Sir Humphrey. "Dear me, how very unpleasant! Murders at our very gates! I do not know what the world is coming to."
He was still tut-tutting when they presently joined Lady Matthews in the drawing room, and when his wife inquired mildly what had happened to disturb him his disclaimers were so earnest that she at once turned to Frank and told him that he had better make a clean breast of it.
Having a more correct opinion of his aunt's nerves than Sir Humphrey had, Frank made no bones about it.
"Horrid happenings, Aunt. I've been finding dc;id bodies. One, to be precise."
Lady Matthews displayed no particular alarm. "Good gracious, Frank; not here, I trust?"
"No, on the Pittingly Road. Someone's been murdered. Uncle thinks probably by bandits."
"Dear me!" said his aunt. "So mediaeval. On the Pittingly Road too. Such an improbable place to choose. My dear, did they give you anything to eat?"
"Yes, thanks; excellent dinner."
Sir Humphrey, always a Perfect Husband, patted his wife's hand soothingly. "You must not allow this to worry you, Marion."
"No, my dear, why should I? Very disagreeable for poor Frank though. I hope we haven't got a gang of desperate criminals near us. Terrible if one's own chauffeur turned out to be the leader of a sinister organisation."
"Ludlow?" said Sir Humphrey, taken aback. "My love, we have had Ludlow in our employment for over ten years! What in the world makes you suppose that he can have anything to do with this shocking affair?"
"I'm sure he hasn't," replied his wife. "I find that nothing of that nature ever really happens to one. But in this book' - she dived her hand among the sofa-cushions and produced a novel in a lurid jacket - "it was the chauffeur. So unnerving."
Sir Humphrey put on his pince-nez again and took the book. "The Stalking Death," he read. "My dear, surely this doesn't entertain you?"
"Not very much," she admitted. "The nice man turned out to be a villain after all. I think that's so unfair when one had become quite fond of him. Frank, did I tell you to bring a fancy dress?"
"You did, Aunt. Who are these Fountains? New?"
"Oh no, not new. Surely you remember old Mr. Fountain? Though why you should I can't imagine, for he went nowhere. He's dead."
"Is that why he went nowhere?" inquired Frank.
"Not at all, dear. How should I know his movements now? How long has jasper Fountain been dead, Humphrey?"
Two years, or rather longer if my memory serves me."
"I expect it does. I never liked the man but at least one never saw very much of him, and Felicity did not insist on becoming intimate with that girl - not that I have anything against her. Far from it; I am sure she is charming, but I always disliked Basil and I daresay I always shall. How is your mother, dear boy?"
"All right, and sent her love. Don't side-track, Aunt. Who is Basil and why don't you like him?"
Lady Matthews looked up at him with her gentle smile. "Don't you find, Frank, that one never knows why one dislikes a person?"
Mr. Amberley considered this gravely. "I think I usually do know," he pronounced at length.
"Ah, so masculine," murmured his aunt helplessly. "I can't explain."
Sir Humphrey, who had retired into the evening paper, emerged to say: "My dear Marion, don't make a mystery out of Fountain. There's nothing wrong with the fellow at all. I can't say I care very much for him, but I am possibly old-fashioned - dear me, Felicity, pray shut that door! There's a direct draught."