“Is this Hildebrand Glossop speaking?” I said.
He replied that it was, adding that if I wanted to make sure I might move a few feet over in his direction. He also called me an opprobrious name.
I raised the eyebrows again.
“Come, come, Tuppy, don’t let us let this little chat become acrid. Is ‘acrid’ the word I want?”
“I couldn’t say,” he replied, beginning to sidle round the bench.
I saw that anything I might wish to say must be said quickly. Already he had sidled some six feet. And though, by dint of sidling, too, I had managed to keep the bench between us, who could predict how long this happy state of affairs would last?
I came to the point, therefore.
“I think I know what’s on your mind, Tuppy,” I said. “If you were in those bushes during my conversation with the recent Angela, I dare say you heard what I was saying about you.”
“I did.”
“I see. Well, we won’t go into the ethics of the thing. Eavesdropping, some people might call it, and I can imagine stern critics drawing in the breath to some extent. Considering it—I don’t want to hurt your feelings, Tuppy—but considering it un-English. A bit un-English, Tuppy, old man, you must admit.”