Free Death at the Bar by Ngaio Marsh Page B

all of us.”
    “Nonsense,” said Watchman. “It’s an economic necessity.”
    “Ah,” said Mr. Nark with the air of one clutching at a straw. “Ah, now you’re talking.”
    Abel came back with a bottle in his hands.
    “There you are, gentlemen,” he said. “It’s Mr. Watchman’s brand and no doubt about it. See for yourself, sir.”
    Watchman looked at the bottle.
    “By God, you’re right, Abel.”
    “This is magnificent,” cried Parish. “Come on. We’ll open it. Have you any brandy glasses? Never mind, tumblers’ll do. It’s a bit cold, but we’ll humour it.”
    Abel opened the bottle.
    “This,” said Watchman, “is my affair. Shut up, Seb; I insist, Abel, you and Will must join us.”
    “Well, thank you very much, sir, I’m sure,” said Abel.
    “I’m afraid,” said Decima, “that I really dislike brandy. It’d be wasted on me.”
    “What will you have, then?”
    “I’m sorry to be so tiresome but I’d really rather not have a drink.”
    “My poor girl,” said Watchman.
    “Dessy’ll have a stone-ginger with me,” said Will Pomeroy suddenly.
    “With me,” said Watchman. “Eight brandies, two stone-gingers, Abel, and kill the bottle.”
    “Good Lord, Luke,” expostulated Cubitt, “you’ll have us rolling.”
    “None for me, thank you, Mr. Watchman,” said Miss Darragh. “I’m afraid that I, too, am a Philistine.”
    “You’ll have a drink, though?”
    “I shall join you,” said Miss Darragh, “in the nonalcoholic spirit.”
    “Seven brandies, Abel,” amended Watchman. “The first half now, and the second hereafter.”
    Abel poured out the brandy. They watched him in silence.
    The rain still poured down, but the thunder sounded more distantly.
    Watchman took the first tot to Legge and put it on a table at his elbow.
    “I hope you’ll join us, Mr. Legge,” he said.
    Legge looked at the brandy and then directly at Watchman.
    “It’s very kind of you,” he said. “As a matter of fact I’ve some work to do, and—”
    “ ‘Let other hours be set apart for business,’ ” quoted Watchman. “To-day is our pleasure to be drunk. Do you like good brandy, Mr. Legge?”
    “This,” said Legge, “is the vintage of my choice.”
    He took the glass and nursed it between those callused hands.
    “An exquisite bouquet,” said Mr. Legge.
    “I knew you’d appreciate it.”
    “Your health,” said Legge, and took a delicate sip.
    The others, with the exception of Mr. Nark, murmured self-consciously and sipped. Mr. Nark raised his glass.
    “Your very good health, sir. Long life and happiness,” said Mr. Nark loudly, and emptied his glass, at one gulp. He drew in his breath with a formidable whistle, his eyes started from his head and he grabbed at the air.
    “You’m dashed at it too ferocious, George,” said Abel.
    Mr. Nark shuddered violently and fetched his breath.
    “It’s a murderous strong tipple,” he whispered. “If you’ll pardon me, Mr. Watchman, I’ll break it down inwardly with a drop of water.”
    But presently Mr. Nark began to smile and then to giggle and as he giggled so did Cubitt, Parish, and Watchman. By the time the first tot of Courvoisier ’87 had been consumed there was much laughter in the private bar, and a good deal of rather loud aimless conversation. Watchman proposed that they have a Round-the-Clock competition on the dart board.
    Parish reminded him of Legge’s trick with the darts.
    “Come on, Luke,” cried Parish. “If you let him try it on you, damme if I won’t let him try it on me.”
    Mr. Legge was understood to say he was willing.
    Watchman pulled the darts out of the board.
    “Come on now,” he said. “I’m equal to the lot of you. Even Mr. Legge. Round-the-Clock it is, and if he beats me this time, we’ll have the other half and he can do his circus trick with my hand. Is it a bargain, Mr. Legge?”
    “If you’re not afraid,” said Legge indistinctly, “I’m not. But I’d like a new set of