Naturally the hotel is very much excited. It is the most thrilling
event since the mixed foursomes. Nothing else has been discussed since
breakfast. Ten people had beds and about ten people are suspected. The
really extraordinary thing is that numbers of people seem to suspect
_me_! That is the worst of being a professional humorist; everything is
put down to you. When I was accompanying Mrs. F. to-day she suddenly
stopped fiddling and said hotly that someone had been tampering with
her violin. I know she suspected me. Fortunately, however, I have a
very good answer to this apple-pie bed charge. Eric says that his bed
must have been done after dinner, and I was to be seen at the dance in
the lounge all the evening. I have an alibi.
Besides, I had a bed myself; surely they don’t believe that even a
professional humorist could be so bursting with humour as to make
himself an apple-pie bed and not make one for his brother-in-law in the
same room! It would be too much like overtime.
But they say that only shows my cleverness....