'Quite justifiable. You haven't noticed anything in the papers, have you?'
'I've only just landed. I haven't seen a paper for weeks.'
'Then you can lend me a virgin ear. There's been a scandal in the Junior Service--the Army, I believe they call 'em.'
A bag of coffee-beans pitched on the counter. 'Roast that,' said the uncle from within.
Pyecroft rigged a small coffee-roaster, while I took down the shutters, and sold a young lady in curl-papers two bunches of mixed greens and one soft orange.
'Sickly stuff to handle on an empty stomach, ain't it?' said Pyecroft.
'What about my new tyres?' I insisted.
'Oh, any amount. But the question is'--he looked at me steadily--'is this what you might call a court-martial or a post-mortem inquiry?'
'Strictly a post-mortem,' said I.
'That being so,' said Pyecroft, 'we can rapidly arrive at facts. Last Thursday--the shutters go behind those baskets--last Thursday at five bells in the forenoon watch, otherwise ten-thirty A.M., your Mr. Leggatt was discovered on Westminster Bridge laying his course for the Old Kent Road.'