"Looks like a tout. Small, thin, with his hat pulled down over his eyes and an old rain-coat with the collar turned up. And a very blue chin."
"Sounds like a stage detective. He's a silly ass anyway."
"He gets on my nerves."
"Oh, all right. Next time you see him, punch his head."
"But what does he want?"
"How should I know? What have you been doing?"
"Nothing, of course. I tell you, Wimsey, I believe there's some sort of conspiracy going on to get me into trouble, or do away with me, or something. I can't stand it. It's simply damnable. Suppose this fellow starts hanging round the Walmisley-Hubbard place. Look nice, won't it, for their salesman to have a 'tec on his heels all the time? Just as I hoped things were coming right——"
"Bosh!" said Wimsey. "Don't let yourself get rattled. It's probably all imagination, or just a coincidence."
"It isn't. I wouldn't mind betting he's outside in the street now."
"Well, then, we'll settle his hash when we get outside. Give him in charge for annoying you. Look here, forget him for a bit. Tell me about the old General. How did he seem, that last time you saw him?"