“I know, but he’s going to pretend he wasn’t anywhere near at the time of Miss Dawson’s death. He only read about it a few weeks ago in a sheet of newspaper wrapped round a salmon-tin, and now he’s rushing home from his distant farm in thing-ma-jig to proclaim himself as the long-lost Cousin Tom. . . . Great Scott! that reminds me.”
He plunged his hand into his pocket and pulled out a letter.
“This came this morning just as I was going out, and I met Freddy Arbuthnot on the doorstep and shoved it into my pocket before I’d read it properly. But I do believe there was something in it about a Cousin Somebody from some god-forsaken spot. Let’s see.”
He unfolded the letter, which was written in Miss Climpson’s old-fashioned flowing hand, and ornamented with such a variety of underlinings and exclamation marks as to look like an exercise in musical notation.
“Oh, lord!” said Parker.
“Yes, it’s worse than usual, isn’t it?—it must be of desperate importance. Luckily it’s comparatively short.”
My dear Lord Peter,
I heard something this morning which MAY be of use, so I HASTEN to communicate it!! You remember I mentioned before that Mrs. Budge’s maid is the SISTER of the present maid at Miss Whittaker’s? Well!!! The AUNT of these two girls came to pay a visit to Mrs. Budge’s girl this afternoon, and was introduced to me—of course, as boarder at Mrs. Budge’s I am naturally an object of local interest—and, bearing your instructions in mind, I encourage this to an extent I should not otherwise do!!
It appears that this aunt was well acquainted with a former housekeeper of Miss Dawson’s—before the time of the Gotobed girls, I mean. The aunt is a highly respectable person of FORBIDDING ASPECT!—with a bonnet(!) and to my mind, a most disagreeable CENSORIOUS woman. However!—We got to speaking of Miss Dawson’s death, and this aunt—her name is Timmins—primmed up her mouth and said: “No unpleasant scandal would surprise me about that family, Miss Climpson. They were most UNDESIRABLY connected! You recollect, Mrs. Budge, that I felt obliged to leave after the appearance of that most EXTRAORDINARY person who announced himself as Miss Dawson’s cousin.” Naturally, I asked who this might be, not having heard of any other relations! She said that this person, whom she described as a nasty, DIRTY NIGGER(!!!) arrived one morning, dressed up as a CLERGYMAN!!!—and sent her—Miss Timmins—to announce him to Miss Dawson as her Cousin Hallelujah!!! Miss Timmins showed him up, much against her will, she said, into the nice, CLEAN, drawing-room! Miss Dawson, she said, actually came down to see this “creature” instead of sending him about his “black business”(!), and as a crowning scandal, asked him to stay to lunch!—“with her niece there, too,” Miss Timmins said, “and this horrible blackamoor ROLLING his dreadful eyes at her.” Miss Timmins said that it “regularly turned her stomach”—that was her phrase, and I trust you will excuse it—I understand that these parts of the body are frequently referred to in polite(!) society nowadays. In fact, it appears she refused to cook the lunch for the poor black man—(after all, even blacks are God’s creatures and we might all be black OURSELVES if He had not in His infinite kindness seen fit to favour us with white skins!!)—and walked straight out of the house!!! So that unfortunately she cannot tell us anything further about this remarkable incident! She is certain, however, that the “nigger” had a visiting-card, with the name “Rev. H. Dawson” upon it, and an address in foreign parts. It does seem strange, does it not, but I believe many of these native preachers are called to do splendid work among their own people, and no doubt a MINISTER is entitled to have visiting-card, even when black!!!
In great haste, Sincerely yours, A. K. Climpson.
“God bless my soul,” said Lord Peter, when he had disentangled this screed—“here’s our claimant ready made.”
“With a hide as black as his heart, apparently,” replied Parker. “I wonder where the Rev. Hallelujah has got to—and where he came from. He—er—he wouldn’t be in ‘Crockford,’ I suppose.”
“He would be, probably, if he’s Church of England,” said Lord Peter, dubiously, going in search of that valuable work of reference. “Dawson—Rev. George, Rev. Gordon, Rev. Gurney, Rev. Habbakuk, Rev. Hadrian, Rev. Hammond—no, there’s no Rev. Hallelujah. I was afraid the name hadn’t altogether an established sound. It would be easier if we had an idea what part of the world the gentleman came from. ‘Nigger,’ to a Miss Timmins, may mean anything from a high-caste Brahmin to Sambo and Raustus at the Coliseum—it may even, at a pinch, be an Argentine or an Esquimaux.”