Chapter XXII AN OLD FOOL Lady Ferringhall made room for him on the sofa by her side. Ann Veronica’s universe, which had never been altogether so respectful to her as she could have wished, gave a shout and whirled head over heels. “I don’t have time for this. He got off on it. The way it had happened was stupid, absurd. In a tall glass the rind of a Syrian orange was arranged in spiral form. He sent me home. "Nothing whatever," rejoined the thief-taker, coldly. The place pulsed with music too loud to converse above. He was sitting back from the table now, with one arm over the back of his green chair and the other resting on the little table. ‘What Gerald wants with you has me beat. “Well, you certainly did very well at tea,” she remarked. But it was otherwise with the carpenter. Tell me, Sir," she added, with forced calmness, and grasping Wood's arm; "what has Jack done? Tell me in a word, that I may know the worst.
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