“Falcon,” said Berry.

“Sir,” said the butler.

“Who brought this note?”

“It was a chauffeur, sir.  I don’t know ’im by sight, sir.”

We filed out of the library, smouldering with resentment.

“But what an awful man he must be,” said Daphne.  “Even if our dog had been in the wrong, that’s no reason for writing a letter like that.”

“It’s unpardonable,” said I.  “It’s quite bad enough to have him living in the neighbourhood, but if this is the way he’s going to behave....”  I turned to Adele.  “Was his manner very bad at the time?”

“He seemed more rattled than anything else.  He was clearly afraid to interfere.  Jill and I got them apart, as I told you.  He got very red in the face, but beyond muttering with his teeth clenched, he never said a word.”

“Must have gone straight home and got it off his chest,” said Jonah.  “I expect he’s awfully proud of that letter, if the truth were known.”

“Well, don’t let’s dwell on it,” said Berry, regarding the oysters which had been set before him.  “After dinner will do.  You hardly ever go down with typhoid within six hours.”  He turned to Adele.  “Bet you I’ve got more strepsicocci than you have,” he added pleasantly.

“Shut up,” said Daphne.  “Adele dear, d’you like oysters?  Because, don’t you eat them if you don’t.”

“No, don’t,” said Berry.  “If you don’t, whatever you do, don’t.  And whatever you don’t, I will.”

Adele looked at him with a mischievous smile.

“I couldn’t bear,” she said, “to have your blood on my head.”

Then she glanced gratefully at Daphne and picked up a fork.

Mr. Herbert Bason had arisen out of the cloud of War.  The time had produced the man.  The storm had burst just in the nick of time to save the drooping theatrical interests which he controlled, and the fruit which these had borne steadily for the best part of five long years had been truly phenomenal.  A patriot to the backbone, the bewildered proprietor obtained absolute exemption from the Tribunal, turned the first six rows of all his pits into stalls, and bought War Loan with both hands.  It was after the second air-raid upon London that he decided to take a house in the country....  Less than a year ago he had disposed of his music-halls and had settled near Bilberry for good.

“By the way,” said Daphne, “did I tell you?  The laundry’s struck.”

“Thank you,” said her husband, “for that phrase.”

“Don’t mention it,” said my sister.  “But I thought you’d like to know.  Heaven knows when they’ll go back, so I should go easy with your stiff collars and shirts.”

“What, have the saws stopped working?” said Berry.  “I can’t bear it.”

“What about my trousers?” said I.  “I’ve only one clean pair left.”

Daphne shrugged her white shoulders.

“What about my tablecloths?” she replied.