Chapter Three
‘You do not really imagine that Theo did it, do you?’ said Gussie, a little later.
Mr. Ballantine had conducted a fresh examination of the scene, to little effect, as far as Gussie could tell. He had then been plied with refreshments by Lady Werth — her aunt felt more concern over the matter than might appear from her serene countenance, Gussie concluded — and now sat in the drawing-room, holding a delicate porcelain plate upon which reposed an untouched cake. A glass of wine sat, ignored, at his elbow.
The way to the Runner’s good graces was not through food, it seemed.
Mr. Ballantine had been absorbed in thought, his gaze fixed on some indeterminate point beyond the winter-fogged window. Now he stirred, and glanced at Gussie. ‘Your concern for your cousin is very natura
