“Only this. I’m satisfied Old Peter is no gardener. He’s wearing a disguise.”
“Well, what won’t you think of next! You’ve been reading too many detective stories, Penny Parker.”
“Have I? Then there’s no need to tell you—”
“Yes, there is,” Louise cut in. “Your ideas are pretty imaginative, but I like to hear them anyway.”
“Considerate of you, old thing,” Penny drawled in her best imitation of an English accent. “You don’t deserve to be told after that crack, but I’ll do it anyhow. When I pulled the gardener’s hat down over his eyes, I felt something slip!”
“Maybe it was his skin peeling off.”
“He wore a wig,” Penny said soberly. “That’s why he looked so startled when I jerked the hat.”
“Did you actually see a wig?”
“No, but he must have had one on his head. I felt it give, I tell you.”
“I wouldn’t put anything past that fellow. But if he isn’t a gardener, then who or what is he?”