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comfortably, ā€œthough Iā€™ve no doubt pussyfootā€™s a good thing, on principle, if not exaggerated. The golden mean, Sugg, as Aristotle says, keeps you from beinā€™ a golden ass. Ever been a golden ass, Sugg? I have. It would take a whole rose-garden to cure me, Suggā€”

ā€œā€˜You are my garden of beautiful roses,

My own rose, my one rose, thatā€™s you!ā€™ā€

ā€œIā€™m not going to stay any longer talking to you,ā€ said the harassed Sugg; ā€œitā€™s bad enoughā€” 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,ā€ said the Inspector, ā€œitā€™s enough to make a man give up crime and take to hedging and ditching.ā€

The constable came back:

ā€œItā€™s from the Yard, sir,ā€ he said, coughing apologetically; ā€œthe Chief says every facility is to be given to Lord Peter Wimsey, sir. Um!ā€ He stood apart noncommittally, glazing his eyes.

ā€œFive aces,ā€ said Lord Peter, cheerfully. ā€œThe Chiefā€™s a dear friend of my motherā€™s. No go, Sugg, itā€™s no good buckinā€™; youā€™ve got a full house. Iā€™m goinā€™ to make it a bit fuller.ā€

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 Thippsā€™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 manners, who lived alone with an Indian man-servant, and a highly respectable family on the third floor, whom the disturbance over their heads had outraged to the last degree. The husband, indeed, when appealed to by Lord Peter, showed a little human weakness, but Mrs. Appledore, appearing suddenly in a warm dressing-gown, extricated him from the difficulties into which he was carelessly wandering.

ā€œI am sorry,ā€ she said, ā€œIā€™m afraid we canā€™t interfere in any way. This is a very unpleasant business, Mr.ā€” Iā€™m afraid I didnā€™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 innocent, and I am sure I hope they are, it is very unfortunate for them, but I must say that the circumstances seem to me most suspicious, and to Theophilus too, and I should not like to have it said that we had assisted murderers. We might even be supposed to be accessories. Of course you are young, Mr.ā€”ā€

ā€œThis is Lord Peter Wimsey, my dear,ā€ said Theophilus mildly.

She was unimpressed.

ā€œAh, yes,ā€ she said, ā€œI 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.ā€

ā€œI doubt it,ā€ said Lord Peter. ā€œSo far as I know he is only a connection, though itā€™s a wise child that knows its own father. I congratulate you, dear lady, on takinā€™ after the other side of the family. Youā€™ll forgive my buttinā€™ in upon you like this in the middle of the night, though, as you say, itā€™s all in the family, and Iā€™m sure Iā€™m very much obliged to you, and for permittinā€™ me to admire that awfully fetchinā€™ thing youā€™ve got on. Now, donā€™t you worry, Mr. Appledore. Iā€™m thinkinā€™ the best thing I can do is to trundle the old lady down to my mother and take her out of your way, otherwise you might be findinā€™ your Christian feelinā€™s gettinā€™ the better of you some fine day, and thereā€™s nothinā€™ like Christian feelinā€™s for upsettinā€™ a manā€™s domestic comfort. Good-night, sirā€”good-night, dear ladyā€”itā€™s simply rippinā€™ of you to let me drop in like this.ā€

ā€œWell!ā€ said Mrs. Appledore, as the door closed behind him.

Andā€”

ā€œI thank the goodness and the grace

That on my birth have smiled,ā€

said Lord Peter, ā€œand taught me to be bestially impertinent when I choose. Cat!ā€

Two a.m. saw Lord Peter Wimsey arrive in a friendā€™s car at the Dower House, Denver Castle, in company with a deaf and aged lady and an antique portmanteau.

ā€œItā€™s very nice to see you, dear,ā€ 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 manners and movements were marked with a neat and rapid decision. She wore a charming wrap from Libertyā€™s, and sat watching Lord Peter eat cold beef and cheese as though his arrival in such incongruous circumstances and company were the most ordinary event possible, which with him, indeed, it was.

ā€œHave you got the old lady to bed?ā€ asked Lord Peter.

ā€œOh, yes, dear. Such a striking old person, isnā€™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, dearā€”that careful of her, you remind her of her own son. Poor little Mr. Thippsā€”whatever made your friend the inspector think he could have murdered anybody?ā€

ā€œMy friend the inspectorā€”no, no more, thank you, Motherā€”is determined to prove that the intrusive person in Thippsā€™s bath is Sir Reuben Levy, who disappeared mysteriously from his house last night. His line of reasoning is: Weā€™ve lost a middle-aged gentleman without any clothes on in Park Lane; weā€™ve found a middle-aged gentleman without any clothes on in Battersea. Therefore theyā€™re one and the same person, Q.E.D., and put little Thipps in quod.ā€

ā€œYouā€™re very elliptical, dear,ā€ said the Duchess, mildly. ā€œWhy should Mr. Thipps be arrested even if they are the same?ā€

ā€œSugg must arrest somebody,ā€ said Lord Peter, ā€œbut there is one odd little bit of evidence come out which goes a long way to support Suggā€™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 strollinā€™ up the Battersea Park Road for purposes best known to herself, when she saw a gentleman in a fur coat and top-hat saunterinā€™ along under an umbrella, lookinā€™ at the names of all the streets. He looked a bit out of place, so, not beinā€™ a shy girl, you see, she walked up to him, and said: ā€˜Good-evening.ā€™ ā€˜Can you tell me, please,ā€™ says the mysterious stranger, ā€˜whether this street leads into Prince of Wales Road?ā€™ She said it did, and further asked him in a jocular manner what he was doing with himself and all the rest of it, only she wasnā€™t altogether so explicit about that part of the conversation, because she was unburdeninā€™ her heart to Sugg, dā€™you see, and heā€™s paid by a grateful country to have very pure, high-minded ideals, what? Anyway, the old boy said he couldnā€™t attend to her just then as he had an appointment. ā€˜Iā€™ve got to go and see a man, my dear,ā€™ was how she said he put it, and he walked on up Alexandra Avenue towards Prince of Wales Road. She was starinā€™ after him, still rather surprised, when she was joined by a friend of hers, who said: ā€˜Itā€™s no good wasting your time with himā€”thatā€™s Levyā€”I knew him when I lived in the West End, and the girls used to call him Peagreen Incorruptibleā€™ā€”friendā€™s name suppressed, owing to implications of story, but girl vouches for what was said. She thought no more about it till the milkman brought news this morning of the excitement at Queen Caroline Mansions; then she went round, though not likinā€™ the police as a rule, and asked the man there whether the dead gentleman had a beard and glasses. Told he had glasses but no beard, she incautiously said: ā€˜Oh, then, it isnā€™t him,ā€™ and the man said: ā€˜Isnā€™t who?ā€™ and collared her. Thatā€™s her story. Suggā€™s delighted, of course, and quodded Thipps on the strength of it.ā€

ā€œDear me,ā€ said the Duchess, ā€œI hope the poor girl wonā€™t get into trouble.ā€

ā€œShouldnā€™t think so,ā€ said Lord Peter. ā€œThipps is the one thatā€™s going to get it in the neck. Besides, heā€™s done a silly thing. I got that out of Sugg, too, though he was sittinā€™ tight on the information. Seems Thipps got into a confusion about the train he took back from Manchester. Said first he got home at 10.30. Then they pumped Gladys Horrocks, who let out he wasnā€™t back till after 11.45. Then Thipps, beinā€™ asked to explain the discrepancy, stammers and bungles and says, first, that he missed the train. Then Sugg makes inquiries at St. Pancras and discovers that he left a bag in the cloakroom there at ten. Thipps, again asked to explain, stammers worse anā€™ says he walked about for a few hoursā€”met a friendā€”canā€™t say whoā€”didnā€™t meet a friendā€”canā€™t say what he did with his timeā€”canā€™t explain why he didnā€™t go back for his bagā€”canā€™t say what time he did get inā€”canā€™t explain how he got a bruise on his forehead. In fact, canā€™t explain himself at all. Gladys Horrocks interrogated again. Says, this time, Thipps came in at 10.30. Then admits she didnā€™t hear him come in. Canā€™t say why she didnā€™t hear him come in. Canā€™t say why she said first of all that she did hear him. Bursts into tears. Contradicts herself. Everybodyā€™s suspicion roused. Quod ā€™em both.ā€

ā€œAs you put it, dear,ā€ said the Duchess, ā€œit all sounds very confusing, and not quite respectable. Poor little Mr. Thipps would be terribly upset by anything that wasnā€™t respectable.ā€

ā€œI wonder what he did with himself,ā€ said Lord Peter thoughtfully. ā€œI really donā€™t think he was committing a murder. Besides, I believe the fellow has been dead a day or two, though it donā€™t do to build too much on doctorsā€™ evidence. Itā€™s an entertaininā€™ little problem.ā€

ā€œVery curious, dear. But so sad about poor Sir Reuben. I must write a few lines to Lady Levy; I used to know her quite well, you know, dear, down in Hampshire, when she was a girl. Christine Ford, she was then, and I remember so well the dreadful trouble there was about her marrying a Jew. That was before he made his money, of course, in that oil business out in America. The family wanted her to marry Julian Freke, who did so well afterwards and was connected with the family, but she fell in love with this Mr. Levy and eloped with him. He was very handsome, then, you know, dear, in a foreign-looking way, but he hadnā€™t any means, and the Fords didnā€™t like his religion. Of course weā€™re all Jews nowadays, and they wouldnā€™t have minded so much if heā€™d pretended to be something else, like that Mr. Simons we met at Mrs. Porchesterā€™s, who always tells everybody that he got his nose in Italy at the Renaissance, and claims to be descended somehow or other from La Bella Simonettaā€”so foolish, you know, dearā€”as if anybody believed it; and Iā€™m sure some Jews are very good people, and personally Iā€™d much rather they believed something, though of course it must be very inconvenient, what with not working on Saturdays and circumcising the poor little babies and everything depending on the new moon and that funny kind of meat they have with such a slang-sounding name, and never being able to have bacon for breakfast. Still, there it was, and it was much better for the girl to marry him

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