Lord Peter removed his cigar from his mouth, considered it with his head on one side, turned it carefully over, decided that the ash could hang on to its parent leaf for another minute or two, smoked without speaking until collapse was inevitable, took the cigar out again, deposited the ash entire in the exact center of the ash-tray, and began his statement, omitting only the matter of the suit-case and Bunter's information obtained from Ellen.
Sir Impey Biggs listened with what Peter irritably described as a cross-examining countenance, putting a sharp question every now and again. He made a few notes, and, when Wimsey had finished, sat tapping his note-book thoughtfully.
"I think we can make a case out of this," he said, "even if the police don't find your mysterious man. Denver's silence is an awkward complication, of course." He hooded his eyes for a moment. "Did you say you'd put the police on to find the fellow?"
"Yes."
"Have you a very poor opinion of the police?"
"Not for that kind of thing. That's in their line; they have all the facilities, and do it well."
"Ah! You expect to find the man, do you?"
"I hope to."
"Ah! What do you think is going to happen to my case if you do find him, Wimsey?"
"What do I—"