THE ROUND-FACED chauffeur was standing in the open doorway, smoking.
“Where is Mrs Cody?” asked Cody sharply, his face going dark at the sight of the man’s insolent indifference.
“Upstairs.”
“Go and tell her I want her.”
“Go and tell her yourself,” said the man, without troubling to turn his head.
Cody’s face went purple. It was evident that this was not by any means the first of their encounters. He mastered his rage with an effort, and, in a milder tone:
“Go down to the village for me, will you, Tom? I want some postage stamps.”
“I’ll be going down later,” said Tom, unmoved by his olive-branch. “Where is that girl?”
“Girl? Which girl?” asked the other, in a tone of innocent surprise.
“The girl you had in to tea. Don’t tell me she has just gone out, because I’ve been standing her
