“Oh, God. No” I say, barely under my breath. Hawkins Head Porter is smiling strangely. More of a macabre grin, actually.
“Prayer is the final refuge of a scoundrel” he says, without humour. “What are you doing in my Lodge?”
The Dean clears his throat and confidently launches into our carefully planned cover story. I say carefully planned cover story, thinking back it was thrown together in a rather unlikely – not to mention drunken – manner. The reason being that we never expected to have to use it. Porter was fastidious in his reconnaissance and there should have been no one else patrolling the grounds but the Night Porter, whose main duties appeared to be taking as many smoke breaks as it is possible to squeeze into an evening shift. But anyway.
“Good evening, my good man” says The Dean, adopting a slightly more silky tone than his usual…
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