They took their seats round the table and Mr.
Pointz beamed affectionately at his guests. He felt
he was doing them well and he liked to do people
well. His eye rested on one after another. Lady
Marroway--fine woman--not quite the goods, of
course, he knew thatwhe was perfectly well aware
that what he had called all his life the crrne de ia
crrne would have very little to do with the Mar~
roways--but then the crrne de la crrne were
supremely unaware of his own existence. Anyway,
Lady Marroway was a damned smart-looking
woman--and he didn't mind if she did rook him a
bit at Bridge. Didn't enjoy it quite so much from
Sir George. Fishy eye the fellow had. Brazenly on
the make. But he wouldn't make too much out of
Isaac Pointz. He'd see to that all right.
Old Leathern wasn't a bad fellow--longwinded,
of course, like most Americans--fond of telling
8
Agatha Christie
endless long stories. And he had that disconcerting
habit of requiring precise information. What was
the population of Dartmouth? In what year had
the Naval College been built? And so on. Ex-pected
his host to be a kind of walking Baedeker.
Eve was a nice cheery kid--he enjoyed chaffing
her. Voice rather like a corncrake, but she had all
her wits about her. A bright kid.
Young Llewellyn--he seemed a bit quiet.
Looked as though he had something on his mind.