If you ask me, war's inevitable - absolutely inevitable."
"I never pay any attention to news," said Patrick.
Once more the door opened and Mrs. Harmon came in.
Her battered felt hat was stuck on the back of her head in a vague attempt to be fashionable and she had put on a rather limp frilly blouse instead of her usual pullover.
"Hallo, Miss Blacklog," she exclaimed, beaming all over her round face.
"I'm not too late, am I?
When does the murder begin?"
There was an audible series of gasps.
Julia gave an approving little giggle, Patrick crinkled up his face and Miss Blacklog smiled at her latest guest.
"Julian is just frantic with rage that he can't be here," said Mrs. Harmon.
"He adores murders.
That's really why he preached such a good sermon last Sunday. I suppose I oughtn't to say it was a good sermon as he's my husband, but it really was good, didn't you think? so much better than his usual sermons.
But as I was saying it was all because of Death Does the Hat Trick.
Have you read it?
The girl at Boots' kept it for me specially.
It's simply baffling.
You keep thinking you know and then the whole thing switches round and there are a lovely lot of murders, four or five of them.
Well, I left it in the study when Julian was shutting himself up there to do his sermon, and he just picked it up and simply could not put it down!
And consequently he had to write his sermon in a frightful hurry and had to just put down what he wanted to say very simply without any scholarly twists and bits and learned references - and naturally it was heaps better.
Oh, dear, I'm talking too much.
But do tell me, when is the murder going to begin?"
Miss Blacklog looked at the clock on the mantelpiece.
"If it's going to begin," she said cheerfully, "it ought to begin soon.
It's just a minute to the half hour.
In the meantime, have a glass of sherry."
Patrick moved with alacrity through the archway.
Miss Blacklog went to the table by the archway where the cigarette-box was.
"I'd love some sherry," said Mrs. Harmon.
"But what do you mean by if?"
"Well," said Miss Blacklog. "I'm as much in the dark as you are.
I don't know what -" She stopped and turned her head as the little clock on the mantelpiece began to chime.
It had a sweet silvery bell-like tone.
Everybody was silent and nobody moved. They all stared at the clock.
It chimed a quarter - and then the half.
As the last note died away all the lights went out.
Delighted gasps and feminine squeaks of appreciation were heard in the darkness.
"It's beginning," cried Mrs. Harmon in an ecstasy.
Dora Bunner's voice cried out plaintively,
"Oh, I don't like it!"
Other voices said,
"How terribly terribly frightening!"
"It gives me the creeps."
"Archie, where are you?"
"What do I have to do?"
"Oh, dear - did I step on your foot?
I'm so sorry."
Then, with a crash the door swung open.
A powerful flashlight played rapidly round the room.
A man's hoarse nasal voice, reminiscent to all of pleasant afternoons at the cinema directed the company crisply to: "Stick 'em up! "Stick 'em up, I tell you!" the voice barked. Delightedly, hands were raised willingly above heads.
"Isn't it wonderful?" breathed a female voice.