"Arthur, please, please, be serious!" Eve supplicated.
"I'm being as serious as a man can who has been disturbed in this pleasant fashion by a pretty woman," said Mr. Prohack attentively examining the ceiling. "You go and look after the fat lady. Supposing she died from exposure. There'd have to be an inquest. Do you wish to be mixed up in an inquest? What does she want? Whatever it is, give it her, and let her go, and wake me up next week. I feel I can sleep a bit."
"Arthur! You'll drive me mad. Can't you see that she must be connected with the necklace business. She must be. It's as clear as day-light!"
"Ah!" breathed Mr. Prohack, thoughtfully interested. "I'd forgotten the necklace business."
"Yes, well, I hadn't!" said Eve, rather shrewishly. "I had not."
"Quite possibly she may be mixed up in the necklace business," Mr. Prohack admitted. "She may be a clue. Look here, don't let's tell anybody outside—not even Mr. Crewd. Let's detect for ourselves. It will be the greatest fun. What does she say for herself?"
"She said she was waiting outside the house to catch a young lady with a snub-nose going away from my reception—Mimi Winstock, of course."
"Why Mimi Winstock?"
"Well, hasn't she got a turned-up nose? And she didn't go away from my reception. She's sleeping here," Eve rejoined triumphantly.
"And what else does the fat woman say?"