"Think of the money," grinned Wimsey, shutting the door of the flat upon him.
He returned to the library, balancing the two letters in his hand. "There's many a man now walking the streets of London," said he, "through not clearing trumps. Take these letters to the post, Bunter. And Mr. Parker will be dining here with me this evening. We will have a perdrix aux choux and a savory to follow, and you can bring up two bottles of the Chambertin."
"Very good, my lord."
Wimsey's next proceeding was to write a little confidential note to an official whom he knew very well at the Home Office. This done, he returned to the telephone and asked for Penberthy's number.
"That you, Penberthy?... Wimsey speaking.... Look here, old man, you know that Fentiman business?... Yes, well, we're applying for an exhumation."
"For a what?"
"An exhumation. Nothing to do with your certificate. We know that's all right. It's just by way of getting a bit more information about when the beggar died."
He outlined his suggestion.
"Think there's something in it?"
"There might be, of course."