murder in oils 20

 a bit on the drag today, sorry, got up and fed cats, went back to bed to doze for an hour and oops, it was 3 hours...

Chapter 20

 

Dinner was slightly strained. Anna was plainly aware that there was something going on, but was glad to have a glowing reference from David. She might not have been as happy had she realised that anyone able to read between the lines would realise that she was not welcome any more. Anna, however, was very straightforward, and saw nothing to complain about.

Miss Truckle managed to produce a meal of cooked ham, courtesy of Fortnum and Mason, served with roast potatoes, pease pudding, decently heavy with onions, and a touch, Alexander thought, of garlic and curry to just lift it.

“Nice addition to the pease,” said Alexander.

“Yes, it’s good,” agreed David.

Miss Truckle blushed.

“Thank you,” she said.

 

“Where’s my painting of Helen?” asked David, staring at the blank space on the wall.

“She’s taken it down,” said Alexander. “It must have been whilst we dressed for dinner.”

“Where is it?” David panicked.

“Stay calm, David, you have others,” said Alexander. “I have to conclude that she has destroyed it.”

“I want her prosecuted! And she can leave first thing in the morning!” yelled David.

“Criminal damage is a civil suit,” said Alexander. “Please, David, let me handle this.”

“Why would you want to? You don’t like her either. Are you saying...?” Alexander put his hand over David’s mouth.

“She’s going to pay,” he murmured into David’s ear. “And more thoroughly if you let me do it my way.”

David subsided.

“If you say so,” he said. “I’m going to bed. If I see her again I might kill her.”

 

Alexander was about to turn in for himself, when there was a howl of anguish from David.  Alexander ran up the stairs, and found David staring at the painting of Helen, which had been repeatedly slashed with a kitchen knife, across Helen’s face. David stood, transfixed, tears running from his eyes, shaking like a leaf.  Alexander suddenly realised that David had held himself together over the inquest, his own enquiry, and the funeral, and that this destruction of the semblance of his wife had broken him completely in bringing her death home to him.

“Come on, old man, I’ll take it to Ida, she’ll be able to repair it,” said Alexander, removing the spoiled painting from the bed. A little note fluttered down which Alexander stooped and picked up, certain that David had not seen it. A quick glance showed that it said, ‘Have the frigid bitch in your bed, then, if you want her so much.’

“I’m going to kill her,” said David.

“No, you’re not,” said Alexander. “You’re going to take a couple of aspirins, and go to bed.”

“Sleeping pills; Craiggie gave them to me to get through,” said David, with gritted teeth.

“Good idea,” said Alexander. “I will see that she pays. Let me take this, and I’ll put it in my car to take to Ida.”

“Yes, take it away, her own face smirks from it,” said David, his teeth chattering. “And tell Ida to paint that smirk out!”

Alexander saw him into bed, and helped him take his pill, and went down to Basil’s room.

“Get Foster to check on David, and tell him to sleep in the dressing room or somewhere,” he said. “I’m going to put this in the boot, to hide it.”

“So far she hasn’t managed to sabotage the car,” said Campbell.

“Good. Keep regular checks,” said Alexander.

He stowed the painting, and took himself to bed, wondering how he was going to get through the next uncomfortable day.

Well, one thing he could ensure, that Gloria or any of her murderous little friends – if they had missed any – could not murder anyone in their beds with the access panels.  Alexander found a hatchet in a shed, and some cut branches of applewood, and proceeded to fashion several basic wooden wedges. It was crude, but it would work, and he used the back of the hatchet to hammer them into the base of the ground floor panels outside.  They might be found and removed in daylight, but at night, they were virtually invisible, unless you were looking for them. It should deter access.

Then he went to bed, reflected that he would need to put the hatchet back the next day, and laid it down on the bedside table.

He fell into uneasy sleep.

 

oOoOo

 

Alexander woke when Ida screaming in his dream being menaced by some unspecified danger turned into female screams for real. He rolled onto his feet and went to the bedroom door, and touched the key in the lock. His fingers jumped back reflexively; it was hot.

“Campbell! Wake up, the house is on fire!” he shouted, hearing the word ‘fire’ amidst the screams.

“Sling yer stuff  outa the winder,” said Campbell, pulling on a dressing gown and slippers.  He and Alexander threw out their bags, and the hatchet, and then Alexander boosted Campbell out of the window, and followed rapidly, glad of the suppleness of the family exercises.

The balcony did not reach this far, but Alexander dropped to the ground without a problem.

He could see flames flickering in the studio, the parquet floor ablaze.

“What’s under this side of the house? It’s the ground floor even though it’s raised,” he said.

“Servant’s quarters and kitchen,” said Campbell. “I’ll to round an’ rouse them, and look for a ladder. You might want to get them women out through the access panels.”

“At least Ida isn’t here,” said Alexander. “You get Gladys out. I’ll see if I can get to the women by the back stairs.... dear God! I gave David a sleeping pill, and he’s over this inferno!”

“I’ll send Gladys after the women,” said Campbell. “Ladder in the orchard.”

Alexander followed Campbell, who barged in the back door and was banging the dinner gong for all he was worth. Alexander saw the stairs and found Miss Truckle tottering down with Gladys one side, and Anna the other. They were all well-wrapped in wet towels.

“Well done, get them out!” he said. “Where’s Gloria?”

“No idea; didn’t look,” said Gladys.

“That wicked woman, she has set this fire, my nose is most acute and I smelled gasoline!” cried Miss Truckle.

“I don’t say you’re wrong,” said Alexander, grimly. “Towels?” he asked, preparing to decamp to where Campbell, seeing his lady love safe, was directing the collection of a ladder.

“I’ll phone for the fire truck in Bicester,” said Gladys. “The phone in Gloria’s office should be safe for a while.  There are fresh towels in here,” she opened a cupboard. 

Alexander hurriedly soaked a linen glass-cloth each and some towels to protect them from the heat by which time Gladys had dialled 999 and got her message through, as it cut off.

“Line burned,” she said. “Come on!”

They ran out of the house, and Alexander was glad to note that the women had wrapped themselves in quilts as well as having wet towels over their faces.  He had a pile of towels onto which he worked the pump in the back yard.

Campbell and Gregson came with ladders from the orchard shed.

“No Foster!” gasped Campbell.

“Hell! He’s upstairs with David,” said Alexander. “Put it up to his window and hold it steady,” he added, and ran up the ladder. He took a wet towel to beat at any flames he might encounter.

He hammered on the window, and groggily, Foster sat up from the sofa where he was sleeping.

 “Open the window! Fire!” bellowed Alexander.

“Oh swelp me! The master is well away!” said Foster, wringing his hands.

 “Throw some clothes, his and yours, and help me to tie him up in his own coverlet to lower him  down,” said Alexander. He ripped sheets, knotting them together to make a rope. The floor was becoming uncomfortably warm.  He lashed David’s wrists together, and tied him in his quilt. The bundle that was David struggled.

“Stay still, David, the house is on fire, I’m getting you out,” said Alexander.

“The house is on fire!  How did that happen?” asked David, in a stupor.

“Truckle smelled petrol, and I think someone tried arson, but if you die, you’ll give them what they want,” said Alexander, brutally. “Now if you can climb a ladder, I’ll undo you, if not, I’ll lower you.”

“I’ll climb,” said David. “There’s the access panel....”

“I jammed them all up to stop someone slitting your throat in your sleep,” said Alexander.  “There’s an ordinary ladder.” He undid David.

David seemed to have come back to life, and followed Alexander to the window.

“Foster, you go first,” said David. Foster obediently climbed over the sill and down the ladder, and David followed, swearing that someone had disconnected his sense of upright.

There were people below to aid him, and Alexander was rather keen to get out and follow him down. The pile of clothing had been moved back, and, taking the ladder, Alexander shooed everyone to move a good distance from the house as soon as his own feet touched solid ground.

The male servants had managed to connect up a garden hose to an outside tap, and were spraying the studio, which was well and truly alight.

“Where’s Gloria?” asked David. “Did she do this?”

“I fear she’s many miles away by now,” said Alexander, grimly. “She killed Helen and Basil, and I was only waiting on having a few constables for a raid, once Keller was nicked, to shut down her poison laboratory forever.”

“I don’t understand,” said David.

 “Well, I’m not about to explain now; we are out in a freezing cold late November night whilst the house burns,” said Alexander. “I suggest the women should hurry over to the garage, and drive down to the village and put up in the inn, whilst we continue to man the hose until the fire brigade gets here.”

“I... yes,” said David. “Go on, ladies, Gladys, goodness, can any of you drive?”

“I can drive,” said Gladys. “I drove an ambulance during the war.”

“Oh, yes, good,” said David.

 

It was at that point the whole of the end of the house above the studio fell in, and Anna had hysterics that this had been where she was sleeping before moving to keep watch over Miss Truckle.

 

And then an explosion split the night.

 

“Hell’s bells!” said Alexander. “She rigged her laboratory to blow up, damn her! I should be in pursuit...”

“I can handle things here; you go after her if you know where she has gone,” said David.

“Better than that,” said Alexander. “Gladys, get Sgt Harris up at the inn, and ask him to phone to the local bobbies in Oxford to nick any woman approaching Jonathon’s apartment.”

“Yessir,” said Gladys.

 

It was a long night. The fire engine arrived, bell clanging, and showed how a good pump and reservoir of water made a difference. By the time the first grey streaks of dawn straggled unwillingly into the sky, clouded and fogged further with smoke and haze from water on hot metal, the fire was out.

“My house!” cried David. “Oh, what a wreck!”

“I doubt it’s salvable, after the explosion,” said Alexander, soberly. “We can go and dress in the garage out of the wind and... ugh, sleet,” he added as he realised that the damp in the air was from more than the hoses. “I suggest Anna stay on at the inn until she moves to her new job; fortunate she had not unpacked and was able to throw her valise out of the window, I think Gladys retrieved it. Gregson! Is your lady love accommodating enough to put you up?”

Gregson scowled.

“Prolly,” he said.

“Good, you’d better take yourself there. Foster... David, I’m going to take you and Foster as well as Miss Truckle and Gladys to my parents, and then I’ll be coming back to see what if any evidence remains of the heroin factory.”

“Heroin factory?  Are you telling me that woman was making drugs in my house?” demanded David.

“I’m afraid so; and that was why she wanted to kill Helen and Basil, and get Ida out of the way, planning to be the wife of a prominent man and thus above suspicion,” said Alexander.

“She killed my Helen for nothing more than greed?” David was getting hysterical again.

“I will see her indicted and hanged,” promised Alexander.

“Major,” said Campbell, diffidently, “Why don’t I drive them down to Essex? You take a room in the inn, and wait for the bobbies to help sort through this mayhem for the lab.”

“I... yes, thank you, Campbell, a good idea,” said Alexander, running a sooty hand through his hair.

 

Campbell collected the car to drive them to the village.

“Take David’s big enclosed tourer to take them to Essex; David’s on the verge of collapse, and I worry about him getting fevered,” said Alexander. “And remember, Gladys is a trained ambulance driver, she can take a turn to give you a rest.”

“Good point,” said Campbell. “Be squeezed like sardines in a tin, but probably louder at complaining.”

“Well, it could be worse, they could be smothered in tomato sauce and served on toast,” said Alexander.

“We were all bloody nearly served as toast, and any tomato sauce our blood,” said Campbell.

“But we weren’t,” said Alexander. “Gladys’s stuff is in my car and so is the damaged picture.”

“I’ll sort it all out,” said Campbell. “Swot I’m here for.”

He rounded the curve into the village and swore.

“Brakes! She cut the effing brakes on her way out!” he said.

“There’s two lots of brakes, front and rear!” cried Alexander, in the front seat. “It should give some braking... and you can use the parking brake.”

Campbell demonstrated his virtuosity as a chauffeur in the wild ride round the sharp bend, and down the hill, breaking with the engine as well, crashing through the gears to minimal torque, out of gear and into reverse to make the semblance of a controlled stop outside the inn.

“Me life flashed before me eyes,” he said, taking off his cap and mopping his brow.

“Mine too,” said Alexander. “Nice driving. I’ll have someone out to fix that while I deal with the aftermath.”

 

Murder in oils 19

 

Chapter 19

 

“Isn’t it dangerous to push her like that, sir?” asked Gladys, who had been hovering within earshot.

“Like poking a bear with sticks,” said Alexander. “But while she’s livid with me, she’s not trying to set David off. Not that she tries to set him off, but it seems inevitable.”

“Mrs. Helen was gentle, let him make the decisions, and did what she wanted,” said Gladys. “I’m frightened, Mr. Armitage; I kind of feel as if there’s something simmering on the stove, but a little thing could make it up and boil over. And Andrew tells me not to worry, the major has it all under control, which  is just like a man, and not very helpful.”

“It’s part of the army training, Gladys, that the other ranks are trained to trust their officers, because they can’t always be told everything that’s going on. And it’s up to the officers to be worthy of that trust, which isn’t a given. You and Campbell know as much as anyone what’s going on, because I don’t believe in keeping vital subordinates in the dark. Your room – how easy is it to get out of, if she tries the gas trick again, or if her laboratory blows up because anger makes her careless?”

“I can go out of the window. Miss Ida used to climb out of her window until she discovered the access panels; but if I was trapped in my room, I couldn’t get to the bathroom where they are.”

“I’d be happier if you put together an overnight bag to sleep in the housekeeper’s room, which has an ensuite,” said Alexander. “And you can pack the rest of your kit and put in my car; I’ll be taking you to Ida hopefully tomorrow or the next day.”

“Thank you, sir. She can’t do nothing to your car, can she?”

“I doubt she knows enough, but you know what? I’m going to ask Campbell to check it regularly,” said Alexander.

He hurried off to do this, pretending not to see the voluptuously illustrated periodical which Campbell was perusing.

“Gladys raised the question that chummy might sabotage my car;  I’d be pleased if you made spot-checks on the brakes, steering, and looked for... unauthorised devices.”

“Gawdstroof!  I wouldn’t put it past the besom, if she knows ‘ow. I’ll run spot-checks, Major.”

“Thanks, Campbell.”

 

oOoOo

 

Alexander retired to the family room to read the newspapers. The Ottoman Empire having been dissolved, new institutions were being installed; Greece and Turkey were still banging away at each other, and the west was seeking a border agreement. In Bavaria, a new popular leader had arisen, a Herr Hitler, a ridiculous looking little man, but who seemed to sway crowds, and had his own army.

“I wouldn’t mind betting that fellow causes a bit of trouble in the future,” muttered Alexander.

“Who’s that?” asked Miss Truckle.

“This Hitler fellow in Bavaria,” said Alexander. “A natural orator.”

“Oh, it will come to nothing, I’m sure,” said Miss Truckle. “I read about him; so sadly nationalistic and trying to blame the Jews for everything; quite ridiculous. And he looks like Miss Christie’s Belgian detective, quite foolish-looking.”

“But Hercule Poirot has a brain in that egg-shaped head,” said Alexander, who was familiar with popular modern literature, even if only because his mother was a devotee of Agatha Christie, or Mary Westmacott, or whatever she was calling herself at the moment.”

“Hitler doesn’t look as if he has any brains at all,” said Miss Truckle. “Beetling brows and receding forehead under that awful haircut. And such an ugly moustache!”

“Well, hopefully you are right,” said Alexander. “We could do without Germany being stirred up to be martial again. But I think they are too poor to even consider it; France was harsh in her demands for reparations.”

“Oh, dear! Let us not think of war; for civilised countries to go to war again after the carnage of the world war is quite unthinkable!” said Miss Truckle.

 

oOoOo

 

Alexander decided to telephone home, to speak to Ida.  His father answered the phone, and Alexander heard a faint click. It might be his mother answering at the same time, but it was more likely to be Gloria listening in.

“Hello, Pater,” said Alexander.

“How are things going, son?” asked Simon.

“Oh, you remember your little affair in Wadi Djebel? A bit like that,” said Alexander. His father had complained of an eavesdropper.

“I see; but you hope it will resolve itself?”

“Probably not, but things are going as well as may be expected, which if said by the medicos mean the patient is going to die, and if said by a policeman means I’m not allowed to tell you,” said Alexander. “May I speak to Ida?”

“Certainly; hold the line, I’ll let her know,” said Simon.

There was a pause long enough for Simon to be apprising Ida that the line was being eavesdropped on. It might not be on a party line, but any other telephone in the house might do so.

“Hello, darling,” said Ida. “I miss you.”

“I want to kiss you all up, my beloved,” said Alexander. “I want to kiss your dear little nose, and your beautiful eyes, and your blushing cheeks...”

“How do you know they are blushing?”

“I know you very well,” said Alexander. “And then I want to feather kisses all along the corners of your sweet mouth, and then devour and ravish it with my lips and tongue.”

“Alexander, the telephone is smoking from your passion!” laughed Ida, breathing heavily.

“Well, let it smoke, it’s old enough,” said Alexander. “Papa had it installed as soon as there was a line. Now, where was I? Oh yes, I want to kiss your shell-like ears and down your neck...” There was an exasperated click.  “Good. It’s going as well as can be expected and I hope to be back with you in a day or two; just waiting to pinch the courier.”

“Take care, Alex.”

“I will, love.”

 

 

The telephone rang just after Alexander rang off.

“Hello?” he answered it.

“This is Arthur Falconer Poulton,” said the voice on the other end. “May I speak to Inspector Armitage?”

“Good grief!  I mean, good morning, sir, this is me,” said Alexander, recognising the name of the Chief Constable of Oxfordshire. “I think this may be a party line, sir,” he said, hastily.

“Ah? Then I won’t go into details, but I wanted to thank you for the little business you helped out with last night. A very good bag indeed, I think we have them all.”

“Oh, I’m delighted I could be of use,” said Alexander. “I imagine you are in liaison with all other districts involved?”

“Yes, and I got the word.  Hope this will be all over soon.”

“Me too, sir,” said Alexander. “Thanks for letting me know you closed the case on all of them; that’s heartening.”

“Well, I won’t keep you.”

Alexander rang off, hoping that Gloria had not been listening, or that she had not correctly interpreted it. He went into the living room area.

“Good news,” he said. “I accidentally helped round up a gang of thieves last night when doing my experiments! Still, it’s how to get promotion, being in the right place at the right time, even if only by accident.”

“How did you do that?” asked Gloria.

“Oh, I saw suspicious activity, and called in a few bobbies to help make an arrest; turns out they’ve been working the district, a man takes a fainting woman to the door of a house, distracting the occupants, whilst their confederates strip the joint.”

It was, in fact, a case he had solved earlier that year, so the details were fresh in his mind, and he spoke about it easily.

Gloria was listening avidly.

“No closer to making an arrest here, then,” she said.

“I still like Keller for it,” said Alexander. “But he appears to have fled. I have people chasing him on the continent.”

“You’ll be lucky; he’s a slippery bastard,” said Gloria. “I need to make a phone call.”

She got up and went out abruptly. Alexander ran upstairs to David’s room, and picked up the receiver there, which was the master telephone, and pulling out the wire from its socket to break the connection. Plugging it back in, and with his handkerchief over the speaker, he did his best to imitate Jonathon’s plummy tones.

“Hellow?” he said.

“Jon! I’m sorry to call you...”

“It had better be important.” Alexander introduced the slight nasal whine Jonathon had displayed.

“That damned flatfoot thinks Keller killed Helen and Basil, and he has coppers out to nick him. You know he’ll squeal if he thinks himself seriously in danger.”

“Leave it to me, Gloria. You bungled that whole affair very badly.”

“It’s all bad luck, that Basil had contacted Scotland Yard already,” grumbled Gloria. “I wish I’d killed him long since.”

“Hindsight is no help,” said Alexander. “Now, get off the line, in case he listens in.”

“I love you,” said Gloria, and rang off. Alexander was ready, getting his fingers down on the cradle so he could ease down the handset without any suspicious ‘ding!’ to alert her.

He ran quickly downstairs again to be back in his seat as Gloria came in.

Miss Truckle opened her mouth.

“Well, I hope you got through, I was having trouble with talking to Ida earlier,” said Alexander.

Miss Truckle’s face suddenly cleared, and she glanced down at her knitting, counting out loud to hide the look of sudden, blazing hatred.

“I didn’t have any trouble with the ‘phone,” said Anna. “I phoned about a situation vacant, in Devon, near the seaside. I am hoping that David will give me a good reference.”

“I’m sure he will,” said Alexander, certain that David would give a glowing reference to any of this ‘Monstrous regiment of women’ if he could be sure that it would get rid of them.

                        

David walked in on this domestic scene.

“David!” Gloria cried. “I’ve been so worried! That horrid man, Armitage, wouldn’t tell me where you were, and I’ve been terrified they were trying to pin Helen’s death on you.”

“I didn’t feel your private affairs were any business of the menials,” said Alexander.

Gloria went scarlet.

“You know I’m almost a part of the family, Armitage,” she hissed. “Poor dear Helen relied on me totally! And of course, David knows he could not manage without me.”

“I am beginning to get more sanguine about trying,” said David.  “Ida sorted me out some paintings of Helen, so I can look at her sweet face without having yours in the corner as well.  Alex, do you know anyone who could paint Gloria out?”

“Ida’s actually very able,” said Alexander. “It would be easier to replace her face with Ida’s; in those drapy robes, it wouldn’t be at all apparent that Gloria....”

“Is running to fat,” said David.

“I was going to say, has a fuller figure,” said Alexander, mildly.

“Well, I could live with Ida in the picture,” said David.

“David, you are so unfair! I am not sure I can live without you!” cried Gloria.

“I don’t care. I’m having trouble living without Helen, and the last thing I need is someone who I now realise was the cause of me behaving so badly to my dear little sister, with you whispering poison all the time. I treated you as a second sister, and you betrayed that, and you know what? You can work to the end of the month, and I’ll pay you a month in lieu of notice because you get on my nerves,” said David.  “I forgot to take the medicine you gave me for my nerves this morning, in my excitement to go up to town to have the pictures mounted and framed, and you know what? I feel better for it already. Calm me down! It calmed me down to the point of being half asleep half the time.”

“Is it a bad time to ask for a reference?” put in Anna, timidly.

“Bad time? Hell, yes, it’s a terrible time, but I’ll give you a good reference just to get rid of you, too, with your vacuous platitudes, self-opinionated nursey-knows-bestery, and your horrible skin. It puts me off eating to see you at the table, and I want to be shut of the lot of you,” said David.

“David... you cannot mean to throw me out into the cold, hard, world,” said Gloria, her voice trembling.

“Why not?” said David. “You aren’t real family, and you’ve done your best to sully Helen’s memory by poking your tits at me and making cow-eyes. I don’t suppose Miss Truckle, who has at least the ability of silence and restfulness, will mind being housekeeper for a while, even if only as a stopgap. It’s not exactly as if I’m giving you your congé for the morning; it’s the twenty second, so you have a week to get yourself out of my house, and your stinky herbal messes too. And anything you don’t take with you, I’ll burn.”

“You will regret your actions, David,” said Gloria. “I hope you will look back with remorse.”

“It’s a foreign emotion to me,” said David. “Go into the servants’ hall; you can eat there, too.”

“I’ll take over in the kitchen, to give Gloria more time to get her things together,” said Miss Truckle, brightly. “I may not be as good at it as Ida, but I can manage good, plain cooking.” She muttered under her breath so that Alexander heard, “And I don’t put it past you to poison us all, my fine lady.”

Alexander had to admit that he did not put it past Gloria either.

There were high words in the kitchen, the sound of a slap, and then the sound of another, louder, and rather damp slap. Alexander strolled out.

Miss Truckle had the mark of a hand on her face, and Gloria was backing away from her, her hands to her face.  Miss Truckle had a salmon in her hand.

“Oh, splendid,” said Alexander. “A piscine solution.  We’d rather you didn’t cause problems with indifferent cooking, until you leave, Wandsworth. I suggest you stay to your room.”

“It’s you; you’ve set David against me!” cried Gloria.

“I doubt it; I don’t think he liked you to begin with and only put up with you for Helen’s sake,” said Alexander. “And I can see why; tact like a rhinocerous! Who is stupid enough to pester a bereaved man with the concept of remarriage when he is still deep in grieving!”

“David never really cared for her! He never showed her one iota of affection!” cried Gloria.

“You are unobservant, aren’t you?” said Alexander. “I’ve only been here a few days, and I can see that David virtually worshipped the ground Helen walked on. He just isn’t very demonstrative. And he doesn’t admire your rather lush looks.”

Gloria stared at him in horror, and rushed up the back stairs.

“Oh, dear,” said Miss Truckle.

“I hope you can cook,” said Alexander. “If you can, and if you bide your time, and make yourself quietly indispensible, you might just end up with security for life.”

“What are you up to, young man?” demanded Miss Truckle.

“No younger than  David,” said Alexander. “And I’m avoiding having him use moral blackmail on my Ida to come back and take care of him. I’m throwing you to the wolves, as you might say.”

Miss Truckle bristled.

“You cannot call Mr. Henderson a wolf!  He can be a little abrupt,  but....”

Alexander grinned.