Mr Priest had been ill for couple of days now. Nothing life threatening, just requiring a couple of days bed rest, according to the big experts on the matter: Mrs McMahon and Sally, the former by dint of helping him to his bedroom and the other by having fetched him some medicine from that nice Mr Boyd, the local druggist.
Apart from that, there wasn't much they could tell Ralph, Caroline or Chubby. Not that there was that much appetite for news of the old buzzard's health from those three, anyway.
The other thing they had to relate was that the old part-owner of the saloon was being nursed by one of the Whatsit-Forde girls: the nerdy, dowdy, anaemic-looking one with spectacles and hair like straw (oh, hold on, that was all three of them) who also seemed to be spending a lot of time in the little room that had been converted into an office.
On the third day, a Sunday, the girl in question appeared in the saloon proper and peered myopically around until she located Ralph and Caroline and walked in small measured steps toward them before stopping and giving them a small smile.
"Hello, I am Miss Patterson Forde. You may be aware that I have been employed as a book-keeper and personal business secretary by Mister Priest. It is Miss Mundee and Mister Flandry is it not?"
Sally looked up from her floor scrubbing with scorn. Flo had been an all right girl before, but since getting this job she'd contracted a real nasty dose of the Miss Fancy Britches!
"Would it be possible to have a short interview with you both in the office for a few minutes. It really is a most important and rather pressing matter" she asked prissily.
