Miss Jade abruptly felt like having hysterics. Bisker proceeded:

“No, we haven’t rung for the quack yet, Mr. Rice… Yes-all right!

… You’ll be along directly?… All right! We’ll hang on till yougets here.”

Bisker set down the telephone, studied Miss Jade for a fraction of a second and seated himself in her office chair, slumped into it with the same visible relief that she had shown when she sat down. He said plaintively:

“Sorry, Miss Jade, but I’m sort of upset like. Findin’ poor Mr. Grumman like that and all. A little drop of brandy-now…”

Suspicion leapt into Miss Jade’s dark eyes, but the mention of brandy created the want inherself. She pushed a bell button. Bisker rose and lurched to the desk. He again picked up the telephone and asked to be connected with Dr. Markham. He saw George appear at the door, and with exultation he heard Miss Jade order two brandy-and-sodas. Then he heard another feminine voice.

“Is that Dr. Markham’s?” he asked, deliberately putting a tremor into his voice. “This is the Chalet. A gent has been taken seriously ill… What’s that?… The doctor’s away?… That’s bad… Back soon?… Oh, all right! Tell him to come along up as soon as he can… Yes, it’s serious.”

He had just replaced the telephone instrument when George appeared with the drinks. Miss Jade ordered George to place the glasses on the desk. Bisker waited for George to withdraw, and such was the steward’s training that not a muscle of his face betrayed his astonishment. The door having been closed after George, Miss Jade said:

“Take a glass, Bisker.”

Miss Jade took three sips at her drink. Bisker held his glass to the light of the window, he sniffed at the contents, then he drank without swallowing and wiped his bristling grey moustache with the full length of a coat-sleeve. He was regretfully putting down the empty glass when Miss Jade said: