"Wouldn't stop Whitey, though," says I.
"Then we must do our best to find Penrhyn," says he.
"Sure!" says I. "Sleuth stuff. How about startin' at his rooms and interviewin' his man?"
"Good!" says Mr. Robert. "We will go there at once."
We did. But what we got out of that pie-faced Nimms of Penrhyn's wasn't worth taking notes of. He's got a map about as full of expression as the south side of a squash, Nimms. A peanut-headed Cockney that Penrhyn found somewhere in London.
"Sure I cawn't say, sir," says he, "where the mawster went to, sir. It was lawst Monday night 'e vanished, sir."
"Whaddye mean, vanished?" says I.
"'E just walked out, sir, and never came back," says Nimms. "See, sir, I've 'ad 'is morning suit all laid out ever since, sir."
"Then he went in evening clothes?" puts in Mr. Robert.
"Not exactly, sir," says Nimms. "'E was attired as a court jester, sir; in motley, you know, sir, and cap and bells."