"I don't like it," he said. "But I suppose it had to be done. What was that? I thought—I'd swear I saw something moving over there."
"A cat, probably," said Penberthy, "there's nothing to be alarmed at."
"No," said George, "but sitting about here, one—fancies things." He hunched his shoulders, squinting round at them with the whites of his eyeballs showing.
"Things," he said, "people—going to and fro ... and walking up and down. Following one."
CHAPTER XIV
Grand Slam In Spades
On the seventh morning after the exhumation—which happened to be a Tuesday—Lord Peter walked briskly into Mr. Murbles' chambers in Staple Inn, with Detective-Inspector Parker at his heels.
"Good morning," said Mr. Murbles, surprised.
"Good morning," said Wimsey. "Hark! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings. He is coming, my own, my sweet, were it ever so airy a tread. He will be here in a quarter of an hour."