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saved is Ā£60 gained, and Iā€™d reckoned on spending it all. Itā€™s your saving, Bunter, and properly speaking, your Ā£60. What do we want? Anything in your department? Would you like anything altered in the flat?ā€

ā€œWell, my lord, as your lordship is so goodā€ā€”the man-servant paused, about to pour an old brandy into a liqueur glass.

ā€œWell, out with it, my Bunter, you imperturbable old hypocrite. Itā€™s no good talking as if you were announcing dinnerā€”youā€™re spilling the brandy. The voice is Jacobā€™s voice, but the hands are the hands of Esau. What does that blessed darkroom of yours want now?ā€

ā€œThereā€™s a Double Anastigmat with a set of supplementary lenses, my lord,ā€ said Bunter, with a note almost of religious fervour. ā€œIf it was a case of forgery nowā€”or footprintsā€”I could enlarge them right up on the plate. Or the wide-angled lens would be useful. Itā€™s as though the camera had eyes at the back of its head, my lord. Lookā€”Iā€™ve got it here.ā€

He pulled a catalogue from his pocket, and submitted it, quivering, to his employerā€™s gaze.

Lord Peter perused the description slowly, the corners of his long mouth lifted into a faint smile.

ā€œItā€™s Greek to me,ā€ he said, ā€œand Ā£50 seems a ridiculous price for a few bits of glass. I suppose, Bunter, youā€™d say Ā£750 was a bit out of the way for a dirty old book in a dead language, wouldnā€™t you?ā€

ā€œIt wouldnā€™t be my place to say so, my lord.ā€

ā€œNo, Bunter, I pay you Ā£200 a year to keep your thoughts to yourself. Tell me, Bunter, in these democratic days, donā€™t you think thatā€™s unfair?ā€

ā€œNo, my lord.ā€

ā€œYou donā€™t. Dā€™you mind telling me frankly why you donā€™t think it unfair?ā€

ā€œFrankly, my lord, your lordship is paid a noblemanā€™s income to take Lady Worthington in to dinner and refrain from exercising your lordshipā€™s undoubted powers of repartee.ā€

Lord Peter considered this.

ā€œThatā€™s your idea, is it, Bunter? Noblesse obligeā€”for a consideration. I daresay youā€™re right. Then youā€™re better off than I am, because Iā€™d have to behave myself to Lady Worthington if I hadnā€™t a penny. Bunter, if I sacked you here and now, would you tell me what you think of me?ā€

ā€œNo, my lord.ā€

ā€œYouā€™d have a perfect right to, my Bunter, and if I sacked you on top of drinking the kind of coffee you make, Iā€™d deserve everything you could say of me. Youā€™re a demon for coffee, Bunterā€”I donā€™t want to know how you do it, because I believe it to be witchcraft, and I donā€™t want to burn eternally. You can buy your cross-eyed lens.ā€

ā€œThank you, my lord.ā€

ā€œHave you finished in the dining-room?ā€

ā€œNot quite, my lord.ā€

ā€œWell, come back when you have. I have many things to tell you. Hullo! whoā€™s that?ā€

The doorbell had rung sharply.

ā€œUnless itā€™s anybody interestinā€™ Iā€™m not at home.ā€

ā€œVery good, my lord.ā€

Lord Peterā€™s library was one of the most delightful bachelor rooms in London. Its scheme was black and primrose; its walls were lined with rare editions, and its chairs and Chesterfield sofa suggested the embraces of the houris. In one corner stood a black baby grand, a wood fire leaped on a wide old-fashioned hearth, and the SĆØvres vases on the chimneypiece were filled with ruddy and gold chrysanthemums. To the eyes of the young man who was ushered in from the raw November fog it seemed not only rare and unattainable, but friendly and familiar, like a colourful and gilded paradise in a mediaeval painting.

ā€œMr. Parker, my lord.ā€

Lord Peter jumped up with genuine eagerness.

ā€œMy dear man, Iā€™m delighted to see you. What a beastly foggy night, ainā€™t it? Bunter, some more of that admirable coffee and another glass and the cigars. Parker, I hope youā€™re full of crimeā€”nothing less than arson or murder will do for us tonight. ā€˜On such a night as thisā€”ā€™ Bunter and I were just sitting down to carouse. Iā€™ve got a Dante, and a Caxton folio that is practically unique, at Sir Ralph Brockleburyā€™s sale. Bunter, who did the bargaining, is going to have a lens which does all kinds of wonderful things with its eyes shut, and

We both have got a body in a bath,

We both have got a body in a bathā€”

For in spite of all temptations

To go in for cheap sensations

We insist upon a body in a bathā€”

Nothing less will do for us, Parker. Itā€™s mine at present, but weā€™re going shares in it. Property of the firm. Wonā€™t you join us? You really must put something in the jack-pot. Perhaps you have a body. Oh, do have a body. Every body welcome.

Gin a body meet a body

Hauled before the beak,

Gin a body jolly well knows who murdered a body
and that old Sugg is on the wrong tack,

Need a body speak?

Not a bit of it. He tips a glassy wink to yours truly and yours truly reads the truth.ā€

ā€œAh,ā€ said Parker, ā€œI knew youā€™d been round to Queen Caroline Mansions. Soā€™ve I, and met Sugg, and he told me heā€™d seen you. He was cross, too. Unwarrantable interference, he calls it.ā€

ā€œI knew he would,ā€ said Lord Peter. ā€œI love taking a rise out of dear old Sugg, heā€™s always so rude. I see by the Star that he has excelled himself by taking the girl, Gladys Whatā€™s-her-name, into custody. Sugg of the evening, beautiful Sugg! But what were you doing there?ā€

ā€œTo tell you the truth,ā€ said Parker, ā€œI went round to see if the Semitic-looking stranger in Mr. Thippsā€™s bath was by any extraordinary chance Sir Reuben Levy. But he isnā€™t.ā€

ā€œSir Reuben Levy? Wait a minute, I saw something about that. I know! A headline: ā€˜Mysterious disappearance of famous financier.ā€™ Whatā€™s it all about? I didnā€™t read it carefully.ā€

ā€œWell, itā€™s a bit odd, though I daresay itā€™s nothing reallyā€”old chap may have cleared for some reason best known to himself. It only happened this morning, and nobody would have thought anything about it, only it happened to be the day on which he had arranged to attend a most important financial meeting and do some deal involving millionsā€”I havenā€™t got all the details. But I know heā€™s got enemies whoā€™d just as soon the deal didnā€™t come off, so when I got wind of this fellow in the bath, I buzzed round to have a look at him. It didnā€™t seem likely, of course, but unlikelier things do happen in our profession. The funny thing is, old Sugg had got bitten with the idea it is him, and is wildly telegraphing to Lady Levy to come and identify him. But as a matter of fact, the man in the bath is no more Sir Reuben Levy than Adolf Beck, poor devil, was John Smith. Oddly enough, though, he would be really extraordinarily like Sir Reuben if he had a beard, and as Lady Levy is abroad with the family, somebody may say itā€™s him, and Sugg will build up a lovely theory, like the Tower of Babel, and destined so to perish.ā€

ā€œSuggā€™s a beautiful, braying ass,ā€ said Lord Peter. ā€œHeā€™s like a detective in a novel. Well, I donā€™t know anything about Levy, but Iā€™ve seen the body, and I should say the idea was preposterous upon the face of it. What do you think of the brandy?ā€

ā€œUnbelievable, Wimseyā€”sort of thing makes one believe in heaven. But I want your yarn.ā€

ā€œDā€™you mind if Bunter hears it, too? Invaluable man, Bunterā€”amazinā€™ fellow with a camera. And the odd thing is, heā€™s always on the spot when I want my bath or my boots. I donā€™t know when he develops thingsā€”I believe he does ā€™em in his sleep. Bunter!ā€

ā€œYes, my lord.ā€

ā€œStop fiddling about in there, and get yourself the proper things to drink and join the merry throng.ā€

ā€œCertainly, my lord.ā€

ā€œMr. Parker has a new trick: The Vanishing Financier. Absolutely no deception. Hey, presto, pass! and where is he? Will some gentleman from the audience kindly step upon the platform and inspect the cabinet? Thank you, sir. The quickness of the ā€™and deceives the heye.ā€

ā€œIā€™m afraid mine isnā€™t much of a story,ā€ said Parker. ā€œItā€™s just one of those simple things that offer no handle. Sir Reuben Levy dined last night with three friends at the Ritz. After dinner the friends went to the theatre. He refused to go with them on account of an appointment. I havenā€™t yet been able to trace the appointment, but anyhow, he returned home to his houseā€”9a, Park Laneā€”at twelve oā€™clock.ā€

ā€œWho saw him?ā€

ā€œThe cook, who had just gone up to bed, saw him on the doorstep, and heard him let himself in. He walked upstairs, leaving his greatcoat on the hall peg and his umbrella in the standā€”you remember how it rained last night. He undressed and went to bed. Next morning he wasnā€™t there. Thatā€™s all,ā€ said Parker abruptly, with a wave of the hand.

ā€œIt isnā€™t all, it isnā€™t all. Daddy, go on, thatā€™s not half a story,ā€ pleaded Lord Peter.

ā€œBut it is all. When his man came to call him he wasnā€™t there. The bed had been slept in. His pyjamas and all his clothes were there, the only odd thing being that they were thrown rather untidily on the ottoman at the foot of the bed, instead of being neatly folded on a chair, as is Sir Reubenā€™s customā€”looking as though he had been rather agitated or unwell. No clean clothes were missing, no suit, no bootsā€”nothing. The boots he had worn were in his dressing-room as usual. He had washed and cleaned his teeth and done all the usual things. The housemaid was down cleaning the hall at half-past six, and can swear that nobody came in or out after that. So one is forced to suppose that a respectable middle-aged Hebrew financier either went mad between twelve and six a.m. and walked quietly out of the house in his birthday suit on a November night, or else was spirited away like the lady in the ā€˜Ingoldsby Legends,ā€™ body and bones, leaving only a heap of crumpled clothes behind him.ā€

ā€œWas the front door bolted?ā€

ā€œThatā€™s the sort of question you would ask, straight off; it took me an hour to think of it. No; contrary to custom, there was only the Yale lock on the door. On the other hand, some of the maids had been given leave to go to the theatre, and Sir Reuben may quite conceivably have left the door open under the impression they had not come in. Such a thing has happened before.ā€

ā€œAnd thatā€™s really all?ā€

ā€œReally all. Except for one very trifling circumstance.ā€

ā€œI love trifling circumstances,ā€ said Lord Peter, with childish delight; ā€œso many men have been hanged by trifling circumstances. What was it?ā€

ā€œSir Reuben and Lady Levy, who are a most devoted couple, always share the same room. Lady Levy, as I said before, is in Mentonne at the moment for her health. In her absence, Sir Reuben sleeps in the double bed as usual, and invariably on his own sideā€”the outsideā€”of the bed. Last night he put the two pillows together and slept in the middle, or, if anything, rather closer to the wall than otherwise. The housemaid, who is a most intelligent girl, noticed this when she went up to make the bed, and, with really admirable detective instinct, refused to touch the bed or let anybody else touch it, though it wasnā€™t till later that they actually sent for the police.ā€

ā€œWas nobody in the house but Sir Reuben and the servants?ā€

ā€œNo; Lady Levy was away with her daughter and her maid. The valet, cook, parlourmaid, housemaid and kitchenmaid were the only people in the house, and naturally wasted an hour or two squawking and gossiping. I got there about ten.ā€

ā€œWhat have you been doing since?ā€

ā€œTrying to get on the track of Sir Reubenā€™s appointment last night, since, with the

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