That’s the correct attitude, Parker. Here’s a poor old buffer spirited away—such a joke—and I don’t believe he’d hurt a fly himself—that makes it funnier. D’you know, Parker, I don’t care frightfully about this case after all.”
“Which, this or yours?”
“Both. I say, Parker, shall we go quietly home and have lunch and go to the Coliseum?”
“You can if you like,” replied the detective; “but you forget I do this for my bread and butter.”
“And I haven’t even that excuse,” said Lord Peter; “well, what’s the next move? What would you do in my case?”
“I’d do some good, hard grind,” said Parker. “I’d distrust every bit of work Sugg ever did, and I’d get the family history of every tenant of every flat in Queen Caroline Mansions. I’d examine all their box-rooms and rooftraps, and I would inveigle them into conversations and suddenly bring in the words ‘body’ and ‘pince-nez,’ and see if they wriggled, like those modern psyo-what’s-his-names.”
“You would, would you?” said Lord Peter with a grin. “Well, we’ve exchanged cases, you know, so just you toddle off and do it. I’m going to have a jolly time at Wyndham’s.”
Parker made a grimace.
“Well,” he said, “I don’t suppose you’d ever do it, so I’d better. You’ll never become a professional till you learn to do a little work, Wimsey. How about lunch?”
“I’m invited out,” said Lord Peter, magnificently. “I’ll run around and change at the club. Can’t feed with Freddy Arbuthnot in these bags; Bunter!”