"Mr. Parker?" said the Inspector apprehensively. "Where?"
"Hush!" said his lordship. "Don' wake baby, theresh good shoul. Neshle'sh baby—jush shee 'm neshle, don't he neshle nishely?"
Following his lordship's gaze, the horrified Sugg observed his official superior cozily tucked up on the far side of Palmerston and smiling a happy smile in his sleep. With an exclamation of alarm he bent over and shook the sleeper.
"Unkind!" cried Lord Peter in a deep, reproachful tone. "Dishturb poor fellow—poor hardworkin' pleeshman. Never getsh up till alarm goes.... 'Stra'or'nary thing," he added, as though struck by a new idea, "why hashn't alarm gone off, Shugg?" He pointed a wavering finger at Big Ben. "They've for-forgotten to wind it up. Dishgrayshful. I'll write to The T-T-Timesh about it."
Mr. Sugg wasted no words, but picked up the slumbering Parker and hoisted him into the taxi.
"Never—never—deshert—" began Lord Peter, resisting all efforts to dislodge him from the step, when a second taxi, advancing from Whitehall, drew up, with the Hon. Freddy Arbuthnot cheering loudly at the window.
"Look who's here!" cried the Hon. Freddy. "Jolly, jolly, jolly ol' Sugg. Let'sh all go home together."
"That'sh my taxshi," interposed his lordship, with dignity, staggering across to it. The two whirled together for a moment; then the Hon. Freddy was flung into Sugg's arms, while his lordship, with a satisfied air, cried "Home!" to the new taxi-man, and instantly fell asleep in a corner of the vehicle.
Mr. Sugg scratched his head, gave Lord Peter's address, and watched the cab drive off. Then, supporting the Hon. Freddy on his ample bosom, he directed the other man to convey Mr. Parker to 12a Great Ormond Street.
"Take me home," cried the Hon. Freddy, bursting into tears, "they've all gone and left me!"