‘I don’t know, exactly…They pin pieces of paper upon you, or something…No, I think you draw them out of a hat. And somebody’s the victim and somebody else is a detective-and then they turn the lights out and somebody taps you on the shoulder and then you scream and lie down and sham dead.’

‘It sounds quite exciting.’

‘Probably a beastly bore. I’m not going.’

‘Nonsense, Edmund,’ said Mrs Swettenham resolutely. ‘I’mgoing andyou’re coming with me. That’ssettled!’

‘Archie,’ said Mrs Easterbrook to her husband, ‘listen tothis.’

Colonel Easterbrook paid no attention, because he was already snorting with impatience over an article inThe Times.

‘Trouble with these fellows is,’ he said, ‘that none of them knows the first thing about India! Not the first thing!’

‘I know, dear, I know.’

‘If they did, they wouldn’t write such piffle.’

‘Yes, I know. Archie, do listen.

A murder is announced and will take place on Friday, October 29th(that’s today),at Little Paddocks at 6.30 p.m. Friends please accept this, the only intimation.’

She paused triumphantly. Colonel Easterbrook looked at her indulgently but without much interest.

‘Murder Game,’ he said.

‘Oh.’

‘That’s all it is. Mind you,’ he unbent a little, ‘it can be very good fun if it’s well done. But it needs good organizing by someone who knows the ropes. You draw lots. One person’s the murderer, nobody knows who. Lights out. Murderer chooses his victim. The victim has to count twenty before he screams. Then the person who’s chosen to be the detective takes charge. Questions everybody. Where they were, what they were doing, tries to trip the real fellow up. Yes, it’s a good game-if the detective-er-knows something about police work.’

‘Like you, Archie. You had all those interesting cases to try in your district.’