“Yes, my lord.”
“Pack up if you’re ready, and come round and wash my face and hands for me at the club.”
“Work here for another two hours, my lord. Can’t do with less than thirty minutes’ exposure. The current’s none too strong.”
“You see how I’m bullied by my own man, Parker? Well, I must bear it, I suppose. Ta-ta!”
He whistled his way downstairs.
The conscientious Mr. Parker, with a groan, settled down to a systematic search through Sir Reuben Levy’s papers, with the assistance of a plate of ham sandwiches and a bottle of Bass.
Lord Peter and the Honourable Freddy Arbuthnot, looking together like an advertisement for gents’ trouserings, strolled into the dining-room at Wyndham’s.
“Haven’t seen you for an age,” said the Honourable Freddy. “What have you been doin’ with yourself?”
“Oh, foolin’ about,” said Lord Peter, languidly.
“Thick or clear, sir?” inquired the waiter of the Honourable Freddy.