"Oh, nothing!" said his lordship. "Only I've just thought of a name for it."
"For—"
"That memorial," said Lord Peter. "I choose to call it 'Meribah.'"
"Yes, my lord. The waters of strife. Exceedingly apt, my lord. Nothing harmonious about it, if I may say so. Will there be anything further, my lord?"
"No, that's all."
Mr. Timothy Watchett of the "Rose and Crown" was certainly a contrast to Mr. Greg Smith. He was a small, spare, sharp-eyed man of about fifty-five, with so twinkling and humorous an eye and so alert a cock of the head that Lord Peter summed up his origin the moment he set eyes on him.
"Morning, landlord," said he genially, "and when did you last see Piccadilly Circus?"
"'Ard to say, sir. Gettin' on for thirty-five year, I reckon. Many's the time I said to my wife, 'Liz, I'll tike you ter see the 'Olborn Empire afore I die.' But, with one thing and another, time slips aw'y. One day's so like another—blowed if I ever remember 'ow old I'm gettin', sir."
"Oh, well, you've lots of time yet," said Lord Peter.