«What? — no, no, we haven't finished. Please don't cut us off. Hullo! Hullo! Is that you, Mother? Hullo! — Mother! — Oh, yes — sorry, the girl was trying to cut us off. What sort of body?»
«A dead man, dear, with nothing on but a pair of pince-nez. Mrs. Throgmorton positively blushed when she was telling me. I'm afraid people do get a little narrow-minded in country vicarages.»
«Well, it sounds a bit unusual. Was it anybody he knew?»
«No, dear, I don't think so, but, of course, he couldn't give her many details. She said he sounded quite distracted. He's such a respectable little man — and having the police in the house and so on, really worried him.»
«Poor little Thipps! Uncommonly awkward for him. Let's see, he lives in Battersea, doesn't he?»
«Yes, dear; 59 Queen Caroline Mansions; opposite the Park. That big block just around the corner from the Hospital. I thought perhaps you'd like to run round and see him and ask if there's anything we can do. I always thought him a nice little man.»
«Oh, quite,» said Lord Peter, grinning at the telephone. The Duchess was always of the greatest assistance to his hobby of criminal investigation, though she never alluded to it, and maintained a polite fiction of its non-existence.
«What time did it happen, Mother?»
«I think he found it early this morning, but, of course, he didn't think of telling the Throgmortons just at first. She came up to me just before lunch — so tiresome, I had to ask her to stay. Fortunately, I was alone. I don't mind being bored myself, but I hate having my guests bored.»
«Poor old Mother! Well, thanks awfully for tellin' me. I think I'll send Bunter to the sale and toddle round to Battersea now an' try and console the poor little beast. So-long.»