"Probably a beastly bore.
I'm not going."
"Nonsense, Edmund," said Mrs. Swettenham resolutely.
"I'm going and you're coming with me.
That's settled."
"Archie," said Mrs. Easterbrook to her husband, "listen to this."
Colonel Easterbrook paid no attention, because he was already snorting with impatience over an article in The 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 organising 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 knows something about police work."
"Like you, Archie.
You had all those interesting cases to try in your district."
Colonel Easterbrook smiled indulgently and gave his moustache a complacent twirl.
"Yes, Laura," he said.
"I dare say I could give them a hint or two."
And he straightened his shoulders.
"Miss Blacklog ought to have asked you to help her in getting the tiling up."
The Colonel snorted.
"Oh, well, she's got that young cub staying with her.
Expect this is his idea.
Nephew or something.
Funny idea, though, sticking it in the paper."
"It was in the Personal Column.
We might never have seen it.
I suppose it is an invitation, Archie?"
"Funny kind of invitation.
I can tell you one thing. They can count me out."
"Oh, Archie," Mrs. Easterbrook's voice rose in a shrill wail.
"Short notice.
For all they know I might be busy."
"But you're not, are you, darling?" Mrs. Easterbrook lowered her voice persuasively.
"And I do think, Archie, that you really ought to go - just to help poor Miss Blacklog out.