"Hullo, sir!" said his lordship, much amazed. "What's up?"
"We have been outwitted," cried Mr. Murbles, waving his umbrella, "we have been forestalled! We should have gone to Major Fentiman last night. I wished to do so, but permitted myself to be persuaded against my better judgment. It will be a lesson to me."
He sat down, panting a little.
"My dear Mr. Murbles," said Wimsey, pleasantly, "your method of recalling one to the dull business of the day is as delightful as it is unexpected. Anything better calculated to dispel that sluggish feeling I can scarcely imagine. But pardon me—you are somewhat out of breath. Bunter! a whisky-and-soda for Mr. Murbles."
"Indeed no!" ejaculated the solicitor, hurriedly. "I couldn't touch it. Lord Peter—"
"A glass of sherry?" suggested his lordship, helpfully.
"No, no—nothing, thanks. A shocking thing has occurred. We are left—"
"Better and better. A shock is exactly what I feel to need. My café-au-lait, Bunter—and you may turn the bath on. Now, sir—out with it. I am fortified against anything."
"Robert Fentiman," announced Mr. Murbles, impressively, "has disappeared."
He thumped his umbrella.