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VII
Mr Justice Wargrave thought to himself:
‘Armstrong? Remember him in the witness-box. Very correct and cau-
tious. All doctors are damned fools. Harley Street ones are the worst of the
lot.’ And his mind dwelt malevolently1 on a recent interview he had had
‘Drinks are in the hall.’
Dr Armstrong said:
‘I must go and pay my respects to my host and hostess.’
and said:
‘You can’t do that.’
Dr Armstrong was startled.
‘Why not?’
The judge said:
‘No host and hostess. Very curious state of affairs. Don’t understand this
place.’
Dr Armstrong stared at him for a minute. When he thought the old gen-
tleman had actually gone to sleep, Wargrave said suddenly:
‘D’you know Constance Culmington?’
‘Er—no, I’m afraid I don’t.’
‘It’s of no consequence,’ said the judge. ‘Very vague woman—and prac-
tically unreadable handwriting. I was just wondering if I’d come to the
wrong house.’
Dr Armstrong shook his head and went on up to the house.
Mr Justice Wargrave reflected on the subject of Constance Culmington.
Undependable like all women.
His mind went on to the two women in the house, the tight-lipped old
maid and the girl. He didn’t care for the girl, cold-blooded young hussy.
No, three women, if you counted the Rogers woman. Odd creature, she
looked scared to death. Respectable pair and knew their job.
Rogers coming out on the terrace that minute, the judge asked him:
‘Is Lady Constance Culmington expected, do you know?’
Rogers stared at him.
‘No, sir, not to my knowledge.’
He thought:
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