«This isn't a bad salmis,» said Lord Peter.
«I've eaten worse,» admitted his friend.
«What about those Argentines?» enquired Lord Peter. «Here, waiter, there's a bit of cork in my glass.»
«Cork?» cried the Honourable Freddy, with something approaching animation; «you'll hear about this, waiter. It's an amazing thing a fellow who's paid to do the job can't manage to take a cork out of a bottle. What you say? Argentines? Gone all to hell. Old Levy bunkin' off like that's knocked the bottom out of the market.»
«You don't say so,» said Lord Peter; «what d'you suppose has happened to the old man?»
«Cursed if I know,» said the Honourable Freddy; «knocked on the head by the bears, I should think.»
«P'r'aps he's gone off on his own,» suggested Lord Peter. «Double life, you know. Giddy old blighters, some of these City men.»
«Oh, no,» said the Honourable Freddy, faintly roused; «no, hang it all, Wimsey, I wouldn't care to say that. He's a decent old domestic bird, and his daughter's a charmin' girl. Besides, he's straight enough — he'd do you down fast enough, but he wouldn't let you down. Old Anderson is badly cut up about it.»
«Who's Anderson?»
«Chap with property out there. He belongs here. He was goin' to meet Levy on Tuesday. He's afraid those railway people will get in now, and then it'll be all U. P.»