"I kept it," replied Mrs. Munns, nodding her head, "I kept it. Because, you see, if they did return with a warrant and I'd destroyed that bottle, where should I be?"
"Quite right," said Wimsey, with his eye on Sheila.
"Always keep on the right side of the law," agreed Mr. Munns, "and nobody can't interfere with you. That's what I say. I'm a Conservative, I am. I don't hold with these Socialist games. Have another."
"Not just now," said Wimsey. "And we really must not keep you and Mrs. Munns up any longer. But, look here! You see, Captain Fentiman had shell-shock after the War, and he is liable to do these little odd things at times—break things up, I mean, and lose his memory and go wandering about. So Mrs. Fentiman is naturally anxious about his not having turned up this evening."
"Ay," said Mr. Munns, with relish. "I knew a fellow like that. Went clean off his rocker he did one night. Smashed up his family with a beetle—a pavior he was by profession, and that's how he came to have a beetle in the house—pounded 'em to a jelly, he did, his wife and five little children, and went off and drownded himself in the Regent's Canal. And, what's more, when they got him out, he didn't remember a word about it, not one word. So they sent him to—what's that place? Dartmoor? no, Broadmoor, that's it, where Ronnie True went to with his little toys and all."
"Shut up, you fool," said Wimsey, savagely.
"Haven't you got feelings?" demanded his wife.
Sheila got up, and made a blind effort in the direction of the door.
"Come and lie down," said Wimsey, "you're worn out. Hullo! there's Robert, I expect. I left a message for him to come round as soon as he got home."
Mr. Munns went to answer the bell.