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«I never said anything about your keeping out of the public,» said Lord Peter, easily, sitting down on the staircase to thrash the matter out comfortably, «though I've no doubt pussyfoot's a good thing, on principle, if not exaggerated. The golden mean, Sugg, as Aristotle says, keeps you from bein' a golden ass. Ever been a golden ass, Sugg? I have. It would take a whole rose-garden to cure me, Sugg —
«I'm not going to stay any longer talking to you,» said the harassed Sugg, «it's bad enough — hullo, drat that telephone. Here, Cawthorn, go and see what it is, if that old catamaran will let you into the room. Shutting herself up there and screaming,» said the Inspector, «it's enough to make a man give up crime and take to hedging and ditching.»
The constable came back:
«It's from the Yard, sir,» he said, coughing apologetically, «the Chief says every facility is to be given to Lord Peter Wimsey, sir. Um!» He stood apart noncommittally, glazing his eyes.
«Five aces,» said Lord Peter, cheerfully. «The Chief's a dear friend of my mother's. No go, Sugg, it's no good buckin' you've got a full house. I'm goin' to make it a bit fuller.»
He walked in with his followers.
The body had been removed a few hours previously, and when the bathroom and the whole flat had been explored by the naked eye and the camera of the competent Bunter, it became evident that the real problem of the household was old Mrs. Thipps. Her son and servant had both been removed, and it appeared that they had no friends in town, beyond a few business acquaintances of Thipps's, whose very addresses the old lady did not know. The other flats in the building were occupied respectively by a family of seven, at present departed to winter abroad, an elderly Indian colonel of ferocious ma
«I am sorry,» she said, «I'm afraid we can't interfere in any way. This is a very unpleasant business, Mr. — I'm afraid I didn't catch your name, and we have always found it better not to be mixed up with the police. Of course, if the Thippses are i
«This is Lord Peter Wimsey, my dear,» said Theophilus mildly.
She was unimpressed.
«Ah, yes,» she said, «I believe you are distantly related to my late cousin, the Bishop of Carisbrooke. Poor man! He was always being taken in by impostors; he died without ever learning any better. I imagine you take after him, Lord Peter.»
«I doubt it,» said Lord Peter. «So far as I know he is only a co
«Well!» said Mrs. Appledore, as the door closed behind him.
And —
said Lord Peter, «and taught me to be bestially impertinent when I choose. Cat!»
Two a. m. saw Lord Peter Wimsey arrive in a friend's car at the Dower House, Denver Castle, in company with a deaf and aged lady and an antique portmanteau.
«It's very nice to see you, dear,» said the Dowager Duchess, placidly. She was a small, plump woman, with perfectly white hair and exquisite hands. In feature she was as unlike her second son as she was like him in character; her black eyes twinkled cheerfully, and her ma
«Have you got the old lady to bed?» asked Lord Peter.
«Oh, yes, dear. Such a striking old person, isn't she? And very courageous. She tells me she has never been in a motor-car before. But she thinks you a very nice lad, dear — that careful of her, you remind her of her own son. Poor little Mr. Thipps — whatever made your friend the inspector think he could have murdered anybody?»
«My friend the inspector — no, no more, thank you, Mother — is determined to prove that the intrusive person in Thipps's bath is Sir Reuben Levy, who disappeared mysteriously from his house last night. His line of reasoning is: We've lost a middle-aged gentleman without any clothes on in Park Lane; we've found a middle-aged gentleman without any clothes on in Battersea. Therefore they're one and the same person, Q.E.D., and put little Thipps in quod.»
«You're very elliptical, dear,» said the Duchess, mildly. «Why should Mr. Thipps be arrested even if they are the same?»
«Sugg must arrest somebody,» said Lord Peter, «but there is one odd little bit of evidence come out which goes a long way to support Sugg's theory, only that I know it to be no go by the evidence of my own eyes. Last night at about 9:15 a young woman was strollin' up the Battersea Park Road for purposes best known to herself, when she saw a gentleman in a fur coat and top-hat saunterin' along under an umbrella, lookin' at the names of all the streets. He looked a bit out of place, so, not bein' a shy girl, you see, she walked up to him, and said, “Good-evening.” “Can you tell me, please”, says the mysterious stranger, “whether this street leads into Prince of Wales Road?” She said it did, and further asked him in a jocular ma