«Well, I think you've got most of the points. There are just one or two little contradictions. For instance, here's a man wears expensive gold-rimmed pince-nez and has had them long enough to be mended twice. Yet his teeth are not merely discoloured, but badly decayed and look as if he'd never cleaned them in his life. There are four molars missing on one side and three on the other and one front tooth broken right across. He's a man careful of his personal appearance, as witness his hair and his hands. What do you say to that?»
«Oh, these self-made men of low origin don't think much about teeth, and are terrified of dentists.»
«True; but one of the molars has a broken edge so rough that it had made a sore place on the tongue. Nothing's more painful. D'you mean to tell me a man would put up with that if he could afford to get the tooth filed?»
«Well, people are queer. I've known servants endure agonies rather than step over a dentist's doormat. How did you see that, Wimsey?»
«Had a look inside; electric torch,» said Lord Peter. «Handy little gadget. Looks like a matchbox. Well — I daresay it's all right, but I just draw your attention to it. Second point: Gentleman with hair smellin' of Parma violet and manicured hands and all the rest of it, never washes the inside of his ears. Full of wax. Nasty.»
«You've got me there, Wimsey; I never noticed it. Still — old bad habits die hard.»
«Right oh! Put it down at that. Third point: Gentleman with the manicure and the brilliantine and all the rest of it suffers from fleas.»
«By Jove, you're right! Flea-bites. It never occurred to me.»
«No doubt about it, old son. The marks were faint and old, but unmistakable.»
«Of course, now you mention it. Still, that might happen to anybody. I loosed a whopper in the best hotel in Lincoln the week before last. I hope it bit the next occupier!»