"Couldn't you get the parties to come to some agreement?" suggested Wimsey.
"If we are unable to reach any satisfactory conclusion about the time of the death, that will probably be the only way out of the difficulty. But at the moment there are certain obstacles——"
"Somebody's being greedy, eh?—You'd rather not say more definitely, I suppose? No? H'm, well! From a purely detached point of view it's a very pleasin' and pretty little problem, you know."
"You will undertake to solve it for us then, Lord Peter?"
Wimsey's fingers tapped out an intricate fugal passage on the arm of his chair.
"If I were you, Murbles, I'd try again to get a settlement."
"Do you mean," asked Mr. Murbles, "that you think my clients have a losing case?"
"No—I can't say that. By the way, Murbles, who is your client—Robert or George?"
"Well, the Fentiman family in general. I know, naturally, that Robert's gain is George's loss. But none of the parties wishes anything but that the actual facts of the case should be determined."
"I see. You'll put up with anything I happen to dig out?"