«Quite so,» said Lord Peter, smiling as the force of the last phrase sank into its unhappy perpetrator; «you mean, if I were to ask you in a general way what you were doin' — say, a week ago to-day, you wouldn't be able to tell me a thing about it offhand.»
«No — I'm sure I shouldn't.» He considered. «No. I was in at the Hospital as usual, I suppose, and, being Tuesday, there'd be a lecture on something or the other — dashed if I know what — and in the evening I went out with Tommy Pringle — no, that must have been Monday — or was it Wednesday? I tell you, I couldn't swear to anything.»
«You do yourself an injustice,» said Lord Peter gravely. «I'm sure, for instance, you recollect what work you were doing in the dissecting-room on that day, for example.»
«Lord, no! not for certain. I mean, I daresay it might come back to me if I thought for a long time, but I wouldn't swear to it in a court of law.»
«I'll bet you half a crown to sixpence,» said Lord Peter, «that you'll remember within five minutes.»
«I'm sure I can't.»
«We'll see. Do you keep a notebook of the work you do when you dissect? Drawings or anything?»
«Oh, yes.»
«Think of that. What's the last thing you did in it?»
«That's easy, because I only did it this morning. It was leg muscles.»