[MaC] A pause in the music - Back in the lounge

[Brenda McCartney]

--- Dorothea Salo <dorothea at textartisan.com> wrote:

> > "Don't mind him old boy."  James said to Anton, not even deigning
> to 
> > give Fitzroy a look.  James sighed, smashed a fist into his palm
> and 
> > mused aloud.  "Everyone in the building was invited to the party, 
> > weren't they?" he said. "Every last one, social hermit or not."
> > 
> > "It's one of us." James deduced, unhappily.
> 
> > "No! No, it can't be!" Nicola protested. "There had
> > to..." her voice trailed off. "Oh... you're right.
> > Nobody could get into Mortmain Mansions and we were
> > all here at the party." She looked around the room at
> > the few stragglers that had been either too uneasy or
> > too respectful to traipse through and gawk at Nola's
> > body. "But... who?" She shivered in spite of her warm jacket.
> 
> 	Pamela's lips thinned. She had come to the same conclusion, but need
> 
> Mr. Drake frighten everyone with it? No point suggesting that perhaps
> 
> someone *had* broken in, given that all the flats were empty tonight;
> 
> that would not precisely reassure.
> 
> 	The thing to do was to remain calm and matter-of-fact. Pamela patted
> 
> Nicola's hand one more time and turned toward Lucinda. "Mrs. 
> Skeffington-Nottle? Your husband was asking for you; perhaps you
> would 
> come with me? Oh, and Mr. Hodges, we could do with whatever aprons --
> or 
> table-linen, even -- you could find for us. Anything at all; it
> needn't 
> be new or even clean." Properly she ought to have asked Mr. Fitzroy,
> as 
> the flat they were in was his, but hundreds of years of breeding
> firmly 
> informed her that she simply could not speak to that common, vulgar, 
> *nasty* little man.

Cyril was about to offer his assistance since he already had a handful
of rags, but then he remembered something that made chills shoot up his
spine.  "Hodges," he said quietly as he leaned toward the bartender,
"you can use these to help Miss Douglas.  There's something I need to
look into."  He pushed the rag pile across the bar, then quickly made
his way around the edge of the crowd and back down the stairs into the
hallway between the penthouses.

In the hallway, Cyril regarded Barowenski's front door from a distance
at first, then more closely.  He checked the carpet, the door trim and
particularly the door knob for any signs of blood, careful not to touch
anything.  With all the traffic going through the Fitzroy's flat, this
front door might actually have been the less traveled one for someone
looking for an escape route.



		
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