CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVEWhen I came to I was lying on the Victorian sofa and Sergeant Buck was bending over me, as dead-panned as ever, if one can be that and at the same time a granite monument of disgust. “Never saw one yet you couldn’t count on to pull something like this,” he was saying.
I could dimly hear Colonel Primrose: “He was an old friend, Buck,” and the Sergeant again: “I can’t visualize a berry like that havin’ friends.”
I opened my eyes again.
“You shouldn’t ought to have come, ma’am,” Sergeant Buck said, not unkindly.
“You’re telling me,” I said. I tried to sit up. “Believe me, I’m really sorry.”
Colonel Primrose gave me a worried glance.
“Are you all right, Mrs. Latham?”
“I’m all right.”
I leaned back on the sofa and took all my courage in hand to look round the room. Pa
