IX“Alec, are you in there?”
“Yes, come in, come in, mind that box, don’t trip over, for goodness sake.” Alec was to be found behind a wall of stout cardboard boxes.
“What’s happened to the lights?”
“Damned fuse I reckon,” replied Alec. “Still, the old Tilley lamps are working a treat.”
Jean sniffed: “It smells worse than usual down here, I must say.”
“I expect it’s that old pig skull – stinks to high heaven.” Replied Alec. “No idea why Archibald insisted that came down here today.”
Jean pressed a delicately gloved hand to her nose and sat down.
“I don’t know how you stand it.”
“I smoke a pipe my dear; I don’t think I’ve had a working olfactory system in ten years.”
“We’re supposed to be at the Roxy by seven.”
Jean surveyed the pile with a well-practised eye. She knew what this al
