Mrs. Drabdump went deadly white. She turned round, staring at Wimp without any recognition.
"You remember me, surely," he said. "I've been down once or twice to your place about that poor gentleman's papers." His eye indicated the grave.
"Lor! I remember you now," said Mrs. Drabdump.
"Won't you come under my umbrella? You must be drenched to the skin."
"It don't matter, sir. I can't take no hurt. I've had the rheumatics this twenty year."
Mrs. Drabdump shrank from accepting Wimp's attentions, not so much perhaps because he was a man as because he was a gentleman. Mrs. Drabdump liked to see the fine folks keep their place, and not contaminate their skirts by contact with the lower castes. "It's set wet, it'll rain right into the new year," she announced. "And they say a bad beginnin' makes a worse endin'." Mrs. Drabdump was one of those persons who give you the idea that they just missed being born barometers.
"But what are you doing in this miserable spot, so far from home?" queried the detective.
"It's Bank Holiday," Mrs. Drabdump reminded him in tones of acute surprise. "I always make a hexcursion on Bank Holiday."