“Or Giggle,” said Stephen.
“You only say Tinkerton or Giggle because you don’t know them as well as Baskett and the maids,” Henry pointed out.
“And Nanny,” added Frid.
“If I’d been Uncle G.’s or Aunt V.’s servant,” said Colin, “I’d have murdered both of them long ago. I must say I’m rather glad it’s going to be Alleyn. If we’ve got to be grilled it may as well be by a gent. But then I’m a snob, of course.”
“I th-think it’ll be rather uncomfortable,” said Stephen. “I’d rather it was the old-fashioned sort that says: ‘ ’Ere, ’ere, ’ere, wot’s all this?’ ”
“Which shows how ignorant you are,” said Frid. “No detective speaks like that. But I do think, Daddy, that Henry ought to ring up Nigel Bathgate. You know how he raves about Mr. Alleyn. He’s his Watson and glories in it.”
“Why should I ring him up?” Henry demanded. “Ring him up yourself.”
“Well, I will presently. I think it’s only kind.”
“What’s Alleyn like?” asked Colin.
“Oh, very nice,” said Henry. “Sort of old-world without any Blimpishness. Rather frighteningly polite and quiet.”