Part 4 (1/2)
Either Sir Reuben Levy has been spirited away for some silly practical joke, or the man with the auburn hair has the guilt of murder upon his soul.”
”Dear me!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the detective, ”you're very dramatic about it.”Lord Peter pa.s.sed his hand rather wearily over his hair.
”My true friend,” he murmured, in a voice surcharged with emotion, ”you recall me to the nursery rhymes of my youth--the sacred duty of flippancy: 'There was an old man of Whitehaven Who danced a quadrille with a raven, But they said: It's absurd To encourage that bird-- So they smashed that old man of Whitehaven.'
That's the correct att.i.tude, Parker. Here's a poor old buffer spirited away--such a joke--and I don't believe he'd hurt a fly himself--that makes it funnier. D'you know, Parker, I don't care frightfully about this case after all.”
”Which, this or yours?”
”Both. I say, Parker, shall we go quietly home and have lunch and go to the Coliseum?”
”You can if you like,” replied the detective; ”but you forget I do this for my bread and b.u.t.ter.”
”And I haven't even that excuse,” said Lord Peter; ”well, what's the next move?
What would you do in my case?”
”I'd do some good, hard grind,” said Parker. ”I'd distrust every bit of work Sugg ever did, and I'd get the family history of every tenant of every flat in Queen Caroline Mansions. I'd examine all their boxrooms and rooftraps, and I would inveigle them into conversations and suddenly bring in the words 'body' and 'pince-nez,' and see if they wriggled, like those modern psycho-what's-his-names.”
”You would, would you?” said Lord Peter with a grin. ”Well, we've exchanged cases, you know, so just you toddle off and do it. I'm going to have a jolly time atWyndham's.”
Parker made a grimace.
”Well,” he said, ”I don't suppose you'd ever do it, so I'd better. You'll never become a professional till you learn to do a little work, Wimsey. How about lunch?”
”I'm invited out,” said Lord Peter, magnificently. ”I'll run round and change at the club. Can't feed with Freddy Arbuthnot in these bags; Bunter!”
”Yes, my lord.”
”Pack up if you're ready, and come round and wash my face and hands for me at the club.”
”Work here for another two hours, my lord. Can't do with less than thirty minutes'
exposure. The current's none too strong.”
”You see how I'm bullied by my own man, Parker? Well, I must bear it, I suppose.
Ta-ta!”
He whistled his way downstairs.
The conscientious Mr. Parker, with a groan, settled down to a systematic search through Sir Reuben Levy's papers, with the a.s.sistance of a plate of ham sandwiches and a bottle of Ba.s.s.
Lord Peter and the Honourable Freddy Arbuthnot, looking together like an advertis.e.m.e.nt for gents' trouserings, strolled into the dining-room at Wyndham's.
”Haven't seen you for an age,” said the Honourable Freddy, ”what have you been doin' with yourself?”
”Oh, foolin' about,” said Lord Peter, languidly.
”Thick or clear, sir?” enquired the waiter of the Honourable Freddy.”Which'll you have, Wimsey?” said that gentleman, transferring the burden of selection to his guest, ”they're both equally poisonous.”
”Well, clear's less trouble to lick out of the spoon,” said Lord Peter.
”Clear,” said the Honourable Freddy.
”Consomm Polonais,” agreed the waiter. ”Very nice, sir.”
Conversation languished until the Honourable Freddy found a bone in the filleted sole, and sent for the head waiter to explain its presence. When this matter had been adjusted Lord Peter found energy to say: ”Sorry to hear about your gov'nor, old man.”
”Yes, poor old buffer,” said the Honourable Freddy; ”they say he can't last long now. What? Oh! the Montrachet '08. There's nothing fit to drink in this place,” he added gloomily.
After this deliberate insult to a n.o.ble vintage there was a further pause, till Lord Peter said: ”'How's 'Change?”
”Rotten,” said the Honourable Freddy.
He helped himself gloomily to salmis of game.
”Can I do anything?” asked Lord Peter.
”Oh, no, thanks--very decent of you, but it'll pan out all right in time.”
”This isn't a bad salmis,” said Lord Peter.
”I've eaten worse,” admitted his friend.
”What about those Argentines?” enquired Lord Peter. ”Here, waiter, there's a bit of cork in my gla.s.s.”
”Cork?” cried the Honourable Freddy, with something approaching animation; ”you'll hear about this, waiter. It's an amazing thing a fellow who's paid to do thejob can't manage to take a cork out of a bottle. What you say? Argentines? Gone all to h.e.l.l. Old Levy bunkin' off like that's knocked the bottom out of the market.”
”You don't say so,” said Lord Peter; ”what d'you suppose has happened to the old man?”
”Cursed if I know,” said the Honourable Freddy; ”knocked on the head by the bears, I should think.”
”P'r'aps he's gone off on his own,” suggested Lord Peter. ”Double life, you know.
Giddy old blighters, some of these City men.”
”Oh, no,” said the Honourable Freddy, faintly roused; ”no, hang it all, Wimsey, I wouldn't care to say that. He's a decent old domestic bird, and his daughter's a charmin' girl. Besides, he's straight enough--he'd do you down fast enough, but he wouldn't let you down. Old Anderson is badly cut up about it.”
”Who's Anderson?”
”Chap with property out there. He belongs here. He was goin' to meet Levy on Tuesday. He's afraid those railway people will get in now, and then it'll be all U.
P.”
”Who's runnin' the railway people over here?” enquired Lord Peter.
”Yankee blighter, John P. Milligan. He's got an option, or says he has. You can't trust these brutes.”
”Can't Anderson hold on?”