Death in a White Tie. Ngaio Marsh

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      ‘Now then,’ said Lord Robert. ‘No jiggery-pokery. What’s up?’

      ‘Well, as a matter of fact,’ answered Donald, kicking the turned-up seat in front of him, ‘I did rather want a word with you. I—I’m in a bit of a tight corner, Uncle Bunch.’

      ‘Money?’ asked his uncle.

      ‘How did you guess?’

      ‘Don’t be an ass, my boy. What is it?’

      ‘I—well, I was wondering if you would mind—I mean, I know I’ve been a bit extravagant. I’m damn sorry it’s happened. I suppose I’ve been a fool but I’m simply draped in sackcloth and steeped in ashes. Never again!’

      ‘Come, come, come,’ said Lord Robert crisply. ‘What is it? Gambling?’

      ‘Well—yes. With a slight hint of riotous living. Gambling mostly.’

      ‘Racing? Cards?’

      ‘A bit, but actually I dropped the worst packet at roulette.’

      ‘Good Gad!’ exclaimed Lord Robert with surprising violence. ‘Where the devil do you play roulette?’

      ‘Well, actually it was at a house out at Leatherhead. It belongs to a man who was at that party. Some people I know took me there. It turned out to be a rather enterprising sort of gamble with a roulette-table and six fellows doing croupier. All in order, you know. I mean it’s not run for anything but fun naturally, and Captain Withers simply takes on the bank—’

       ‘Who?’

      ‘The person’s name is Withers.’

      ‘When was this party?’

      ‘Oh, a week or so ago. They have them fairly regularly. I paid all right, but—but it just about cleaned me up. I had the most amazing bad luck, actually. Would you believe it, there was a run of seventeen against me on the even chances? Bad. Very bad,’ said Donald with an unconvincing return to his lighter manner. ‘Disastrous, in fact.’

      ‘You’re shying about,’ said Lord Robert. ‘What’s the real trouble?’

      ‘One of my cheques has been returned R/D. I’m bust.’

      ‘I paid your Oxford debts and started you off with five hundred as a yearly allowance. Are you telling me you’ve gone through five hundred since you came down?’

      ‘I’m sorry,’ said Donald. ‘Yes.’

      ‘Your mother gives you four pounds a week, don’t she?’

      ‘Yes.’

      Lord Robert suddenly whisked out a notebook.

      ‘How much was this returned cheque?’

      ‘Fifty quid. Awful, isn’t it?’ He glanced at his uncle’s profile and saw that his lips were pursed in a soundless whistle. Donald decided that it was not as bad as he had feared and said more hopefully: ‘Isn’t it a bore?’

      Lord Robert, his pencil poised, said: ‘Who was it made out to?’

      ‘To Wits—Withers—everyone calls him Wits. You see, I had a side bet with him.’

      Lord Robert wrote, turned, and looked over his spectacles at his nephew.

      ‘I’ll send Withers a cheque tonight,’ he said.

      ‘Thank you so much, Uncle Bunch.’

      ‘What’s the address?’

      ‘Shackleton House, Leatherhead. He’s got a flat in town but the Leatherhead address is all right.’

      ‘Any other debts?’

      ‘One or two shops. They seem to be getting rather testy about it. And a restaurant or two.’

      ‘Here we are,’ said Lord Robert abruptly.

      The taxi drew up outside the house he shared with his sister. They got out. Lord Robert paid and tipped the driver.

      ‘How’s the lumbago?’ he asked.

      ‘Not too bad, m’lord, thank you, m’lord.’

      ‘Good. ‘Evening to you.’

      ‘Good evening, m’lord.’

      They entered the house in silence. Lord Robert said over his shoulder: ‘Come to my room.’

      He led the way, a small, comic, but somehow a rather resolute figure. Donald followed him into an old-fashioned study. Lord Robert sat at his desk and wrote a cheque with finicky movements of his fat hands. He blotted it meticulously and swung round in his chair to face his nephew.

      ‘You still of the same mind about this doctoring?’ he asked.

      ‘Well, that’s the big idea,’ said Donald.

      ‘Passed some examinations for it, didn’t you?’

      ‘Medical prelim,’ said Donald easily. ‘Yes, I’ve got that.’

      ‘Before you were sent down for losing your mother’s money. And mine.’

      Donald was silent.

      ‘I’ll get you out of this mess on one condition. I don’t know the way you set about working for a medical degree. Our family’s been in the diplomatic for a good many generations. High time we did something else, I dare say. You’ll start work at Edinburgh as soon as they’ll have you. If that’s not at once I’ll get a coach and you’ll go to Archery and work there. I’ll show you as much as the usual medical student gets and I’ll advise your mother to give you no more. That’s all.’

      ‘Edinburgh! Archery!’ Donald’s voice was shrill with dismay. ‘But I don’t want to go to Edinburgh for my training. I want to go to Thomas’s.’

      ‘You’re better away from London. There’s one other thing I must absolutely insist upon, Donald. You are to drop this feller Withers.’

      ‘Why should I?’

      ‘Because the feller’s a bad ‘un. I know something about him. I have never interfered in the matter of your friendships before, but I’d be neglectin’ my duty like anything if I didn’t step in here.’

      ‘I won’t give up a friend simply because you choose to say he’s no good.’

      ‘I give you my word of honour this man’s a rotter—a criminal rotter. I was amazed when I recognized Withers this afternoon. My information dates from my Foreign Office days. It’s unimpeachable. Very bad record. Come now, be sensible. Make a clean break and forget all about him. Archery’s a nice old house. Your mother can use it as a pied-à-terre and see you sometimes. It’s only ten miles out of Edinburgh.’

      ‘But—’

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