«No — they leave you to remember all by yourself. And it's beastly hard. Nothing to catch hold of, don't you know? But, I say — how did you know about Tommy Pringle being the funny man and —»
«I didn't, till you told me.»
«No; I know. But how did you know he'd be there if you did ask? I mean to say — I say,» said Mr. Piggott, who was becoming mellowed by influences themselves not unconnected with the alimentary canal — «I say, are you rather clever, or am I rather stupid?»
«No, no,» said Lord Peter, «it's me. I'm always askin' such stupid questions, everybody thinks I must mean somethin' by 'em.»
This was too involved for Mr. Piggott.
«Never mind,» said Parker, soothingly, «he's always like that. You mustn't take any notice. He can't help it. It's premature senile decay, often observed in the families of hereditary legislators. Go away, Wimsey, and play us the “Beggar's Opera”, or something.»
«That's good enough, isn't it?» said Lord Peter, when the happy Mr. Piggott had been despatched home after a really delightful evening.
«I'm afraid so,» said Parker. «But it seems almost incredible.»
«There's nothing incredible in human nature,» said Lord Peter; «at least, in educated human nature. Have you got that exhumation order?»
«I shall have it to-morrow. I thought of fixing up with the workhouse people for to-morrow afternoon. I shall have to go and see them first.»