the company with respect and observed that it was a nasty night.
The commercial gentleman uttered an emphatic agreement.
'I ought to have got on to Drabblesford tonight,' he added, 'but with this frost and drizzle and frost again the roads are in such a state, I think I'd better stay where I am.'
'Same here,' said Mr Egg, approaching the hatch. 'Half of mild-and-bitter, please. Cold, too, isn't it?'
'Very cold,' said the policeman.
'Ar,' said old Mr Faggott.
'Foul,' said the man in the burberry, returning from the hatch and seating himself near the commercial gentleman. 'I've reason to know it. Skidded into a telegraph-pole two miles out. You should see my bumpers. Well! I suppose it's only to be expected this time of year.'
'Ar!' said old Mr Faggott. There was a pause.
'Well,' said Mr Egg, politely raising his tankard, 'here's luck!' The company acknowledged the courtesy in a suitable manner, and another pause followed. It was broken by the traveller.
'Acquainted with this part of the country, sir?'
'Why, no,' said Monty Egg. 'It's not my usual beat. Bastable covers it as a rule--Henry Bastable--perhaps you know him? He and I travel for Plummet & Rose, wines and spirits.'
'Tall, red-haired fellow?'
'That's him. Laid up with rheumatic fever, poor chap, so I'm taking over temporarily. My name's Egg-- Montague Egg.'
'Oh, yes, I think I've heard of you from Taylor of Harrogate Bros. Redwood is my name. Fragonard & Co., perfumes and toilet accessories.'
Mr Egg bowed and inquired, in a discreet and general way, how Mr Redwood was finding things.
'Not too bad. Of course, money's a bit tight; that's only to be expected. But, considering everything, not too bad. I've got a line here, by the way, which is doing pretty well and may give you something to think about.' He bent over, unstrapped his bag and produced a tall flask, its glass stopper neatly secured with a twist of fine string. 'Tell me what you think of that.' He removed the string and handed the sample to Monty.
'Parma violet?' said that gentleman, with a glance at the label. 'The young lady should be the best judge of this. Allow me, miss. Sweets to the sweet,' he added gallantly. 'You'll excuse me, I'm sure.'
The girl giggled.
'Go on, Gert,' said her companion. 'Never refuse a good offer.' He removed the stopper and sniffed heartily at the perfume. 'This is high-class stuff, this is. Put a drop on your handkerchief. Here--I'll do it for you!'
'Oh! it's lovely!' said the girl. 'Refined, I call it. Get along, Arthur, do! Leave my handkerchief alone--what they'll all think of you! I'm sure this gentleman won't mind you having a drop for yourself if you want it.'
Arthur favoured the company with a large wink, and sprinkled his handkerchief liberally. Monty rescued the flask and passed it to the man in the burberry.
'Excuse me, sir,' said Mr Redwood, 'but if I might point it out, it's not everybody knows the right way to test perfume. Just dab a little on the hand, wait while the liquid evaporates, and then raise the hand to the nostrils.'
'Like this?' said the man in the Burberry, dexterously hitching the stopper out with his little finger, pouring a drop of perfume into his left palm and re-stoppering the bottle, all in one movement. 'Yes, I see what you mean.'
'That's very interesting,' said Monty, much impressed and following the example set him. 'Same as when you put old brandy in a thin glass and cradle it in the hollow of the palm to bring out the aroma. The warmth of the hand makes the ethers expand. I'm very glad to know from you, Mr Redwood, what is the correct method with perfumes. Ready to learn means ready to earn--that's Monty Egg, every time. A very fine perfume indeed. Would you like to try it, sir?'
He offered the bottle first to the aged countryman (who shook his head, remarking acidly that he 'couldn't abide smells and sich nastiness') and then to the policeman, who, disdaining refinements, took a strong sniff at the bottle and pronounced the scent 'good, but a bit powerful for his liking.'
'Well, well, tastes differ,' said Monty. He glanced round, and, observing the silent man in the far corner, approached him confidently with a request for his opinion.
'What the devil's the matter with you?' growled this person, emerging reluctantly from behind his barricade of newspaper, and displaying a bristling and bellicose fair moustache and a pair of sulky blue eyes. 'There seems to be no peace in this bar. Scent? Can't abide the stuff.' He snatched the perfume impatiently from Mr Egg's hand, sniffed and thrust the stopper back with such blind and fumbling haste that it missed the neck of the flask altogether and rolled away under the table. 'Well, it's scent. What else do you want me to say about it? I'm not going to buy it, if that's what you're after.'
'Certainly not, sir,' said Mr Redwood, hurt, and hastening to retrieve his scattered property. 'Wonder what's bitten him,' he continued, in a confidential undertone. 'Nasty glitter in his eye. Hands all of a tremble. Better look out for him, sergeant. We don't want murder done. Well, anyhow, madam and gentlemen, what should you say if I was to tell you that we're able to retail that large bottle, as it stands--retail it, mind you--at three shillings and sixpence?'
'Three-and-six?' said Mr Egg, surprised. 'Why, I should have thought that wouldn't so much as pay the duty on the spirit.'
'Nor it would,' triumphed Mr Redwood, 'if it was spirit. But it isn't, and that's the whole point. It's a trade secret and I can't say more, but if you were to be asked whether that was or was not the finest Parma violet, equal to the most expensive marks, I don't mind betting you'd never know the difference.'
'No, indeed,' said Mr Egg. 'Wonderful, I call it. Pity they can't discover something similar to help the wine and spirit business, though I needn't say it wouldn't altogether do, or what would the Chancellor of the Exchequer have to say about it? Talking of that, what are you drinking? And you, miss? I hope you'll allow me, gentlemen. Same again all round, please.'
The landlord hastened to fulfil the order and, as he passed through the bar-parlour, switched on the wireless, which instantly responded with the 9 o'clock time-signal, followed clearly by the voice of the announcer.
'This is the National Programme from London. Before I read the weather report, here is a police message. In connection with the murder of Alice Steward, at Nottingham, we are asked by the Commissioner of Police to broadcast the following. The police are anxious to get in touch with a young man named Gerald Beeton, who is known to have visited the deceased on the afternoon preceding her death. This man is aged thirty-five, medium height, medium build, fair hair, small moustache, grey or blue eyes, full face, fresh colour. When last seen was wearing a grey lounge suit, soft grey hat and fawn overcoat, and is thought to be now travelling the country in a Morris car, number unknown. Will this man, or anyone able to throw light on his whereabouts, please communicate at once with the Superintendent of Police, Nottingham, or with any police-station? Here is the weather report. A deep depression . . .'
'Oh, switch it off, George,' urged Mr Redwood. 'We don't want to hear about depressions.'
'That's right,' agreed the landlord, switching off. 'What gets me is these police descriptions. How'd they think anyone's going to recognise a man from the sort of stuff they give you? Medium this and medium the other, and ordinary face and fair complexion and a soft hat--might be anybody.'
'So it might,' said Monty. 'It might be me.'
'Well, that's true, it might,' said Mr Redwood. 'Or it might be this gentleman.'
'That's a fact,' admitted the man in the burberry. 'Or it might be fifty men out of every hundred.'
'Yes, or'--Monty jerked his head cautiously towards the newspaper in the corner--'him!'
'Well, so you say,' said Redwood, 'but nobody else has seen him to look at. Unless it's George.'
'I wouldn't care to swear to him,' said the landlord, with a smile. 'He come straight in here and ordered a drink and paid for it without so much as looking at me, but from what I did see of him the description would fit him as well as anybody. And what's more, he's got a Morris car--it's in the garage now.'
'That's nothing against him,' said Monty. 'So've I.'
'And I,' said the man in the burberry.
'And I,' chimed in Redwood. 'Encourage home industries, I say. But it's no help to identifying a man. Beg your pardon, sergeant, and all that, but why don't the police make it a bit easier for the public?'
