Marigold stiffened himself--the degree of stiffness beyond his ordinary inflexibility of attitude could only have been ascertained by a vernier, but that degree imparted an appreciable dignity to his demeanour.
"I beg pardon, sir, but lately I've noticed that my little bits of local news haven't seemed to be welcome." "Marigold," said I, "don't be an ass." "Very good, sir." "My mind," said I, "is in an awful muddle about all sorts of things that are going on in this town.

So I should esteem it a favour if you would tell me at once any odds and ends of gossip you may pick up.

They may possibly be important." "And if I have any inferences to draw from what I hear," said he gravely, fixing me with his clear eye, "may I take the liberty of acquainting you with them ?" "Certainly." "Very good, sir," said Marigold.
Now what was Marigold going to draw inferences about?
That was another puzzle.

I felt myself being drawn into a fog-filled labyrinth of intrigue in which already groping were most of the people I knew.

What with the mysterious relations between Betty and Boyce and Gedge, what with young Dacre's full exoneration of Boyce, what with young Randall's split with Gedge and his impeccable attitude towards Phyllis, things were complicated enough; Sir Anthony's revelations regarding poor Althea and his dark surmises concerning Randall complicated them still more; and now comes Mrs.Holmes to tell me of Randall's mysterious disappearance.
"A plague on the whole lot!" I exclaimed wrathfully.
I dined that evening with the Fenimores.