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My grin returned.
‘I owe you p-proper respect as my s-superior, Sir. I could never be so d-disrespectful as to forget that, Sir.’
His eyes narrowed infini
tesimally. ‘Or at least while you’re drunk you can’t be, apparently.’
‘Yes, Sir! Exactly, Sir!’
He gave me his coldest glare yet this evening. But then, suddenly, his eyes shifted upward, looking over my shoulder. Turning my head, I followed his gaze and saw the grimy landlord watching us with suspicious little eyes.
‘Over here,’ Mr Ambrose commanded in a low voice and, without waiting for an answer, grabbed me by the arm and dragged me into a quiet corner.
‘I can’t believe it!’ There really was disbelief in his voice, mingled with exasperation and wonder and… well probably a lot of other things I was too intoxiwhatsicated to notice. ‘I can simply not believe it. You have been drinking. And not just drinking any drinks, but drinks containing alcohol!’
‘What’s so strange about it?’ I mumbled. ‘People do it every day.’
‘Men do it every day! But you are… you are…’
‘Yes?’ I smiled up at him. I felt like smiling. I felt like it was a happy world. ‘I am what?’
‘A girl!’
‘Really? Gosh. I hadn’t noticed.’
He drew a deep breath.
‘When men gather after dinner to consume alcoholic beverages, Mr Linton,’ he pointed out in a very tight, controlled voice, ‘it is the custom of civilized society that women leave the room, because women have no interest in alcohol and no business drinking it. It is not within their nature.’
‘Very interesting, I’m sure.’ My grin grew wider. It was getting a bit easier to talk without stumbling over my syllables. ‘But since, as you’re so often kind enough to point out, I am Mister Victor Linton while in your employ, what do those poor, alcohol-deprived females have to do with me?’
‘Why in heaven’s name did you drink?’
‘You ordered me to.’
‘I never…’
‘You said to behave like everybody else. Everybody else was drinking. You were.’ I nudged him playfully in the ribs, something that I vaguely knew I normally wouldn’t have done with a ten foot pole. ‘Don’t you remember? Another one, me good fellow, hm?’
From the look Mr Ambrose gave me, he didn’t appreciate being nudged playfully in the ribs very much. Nor did he apparently appreciate vocal impersonations.
‘You,’ he told me in a tone that could have frozen the Sahara, ‘are a disgrace to your sex.’
‘Which one would that be?’
From freezing the Sahara, his eyes went right on to the Kalahari.
‘That is a discussion we will have at a later time. Right now, Mr Linton, I have to go interview the man we came to look for, before he decides to leave.’
‘How may I be of assi… assissi… assistance, Sir?’
‘You may go into that room there,’ he said, pointing to the door which led to the pub’s back room, ‘sit quietly in a corner and not touch another drop of alcohol until I come to get you. Understood?’
‘Y-yes, Sir… I understand.’ Damn! I was stumbling over syllables again. ‘But how will that help you f-find the file?’
‘By having you out of my way. Now go!’
With that, he turned and strode towards the tables.
