'There was an aunt. She came from somewhere in Surrey, I think. Aunt Susan, I used to call her. I haven't seen her since I was a kid.'
'Married?'
'Yes--oh, yes--Mrs Susan Brown.'
'Right. Were you left-handed as a child?'
'Well, yes, I was, at first. But mother broke me of it.'
'And the tendency came back after the air-raid. And were you ever ill as a child? To have the doctor, I mean?'
'I had measles once, when I was about four.'
'Remember the doctor's name?'
'They took me to the hospital.'
'Oh, of course. Do you remember the name of the barber in Holborn?'
This question came so unexpectedly as to stagger the wits of Mr Duckworthy, but after a while he said he thought it was Biggs or Briggs.
Wimsey sat thoughtfully for a moment, and then said:
'I think that's all. Except--oh, yes! What is your Christian name?'
'Robert.'
'And you assure me that, so far as you know, you had no hand in this business?'
'That,' said the little man, 'that I swear to. As far as I know, you know. Oh, my Lord! If only it was possible to prove an alibi! That's my only chance. But I'm so afraid, you see, that I may have done it. Do you think--do you think they would hang me for that?'
'Not if you could prove you knew nothing about it,' said Wimsey. He did not add that, even so, his acquaintance might probably pass the rest of his life at Broadmoor.
'And you know,' said Mr Duckworthy, 'if I'm to go about all my life killing people without knowing it, it would be much better that they should hang me and be done with it. It's a terrible thing to think of.'
'Yes, but you may not have done it, you know.'
'I hope not, I'm sure,' said Mr Duckworthy. 'I say--what's that?'
'The police, I fancy,' said Wimsey lightly. He stood up as a knock came at the door, and said heartily, 'Come in!'
The landlord, who entered first, seemed rather taken aback by Wimsey's presence.
'Come right in,' said Wimsey hospitably. 'Come in, sergeant; come in, officer. What can we do for you?'
'Don't,' said the landlord, 'don't make a row if you can help it.'
The police sergeant paid no attention to either of them, but stalked across to the bed and confronted the shrinking Mr Duckworthy.
'It's the man all right,' said he. 'Now, Mr Duckworthy, you'll excuse this late visit, but as you may have seen by the papers, we've been looking for a person answering your description, and there's no time like the present. We want--'
'I didn't do it,' cried Mr Duckworthy wildly. 'I know nothing about it--'
The officer pulled out his note-book and wrote: 'He said before any question was asked him, 'I didn't do it.''
'You seem to know all about it,' said then sergeant.
'Of course he does,' said Wimsey; 'we've been having a little informal chat about it.'
'You have, have you? And who might you be--sir?' The last word appeared to be screwed out of the sergeant forcibly by the action of the monocle.
'I'm so sorry,' said Wimsey, 'I haven't a card on me at the moment. I am Lord Peter Wimsey.'
'Oh, indeed,' said the sergeant. 'And may I ask, my lord, what you know about this here?'
'You may, and I may answer if I like, you know. I know nothing at all about the murder. About Mr Duckworthy I know what he has told me and no more. I dare say he will tell you, too, if you ask him nicely. But no third degree, you know, sergeant. No Savidgery.'
Baulked by this painful reminder, the sergeant said, in a voice of annoyance:
'It's my duty to ask him what he knows about this.'
'I quite agree,' said Wimsey. 'As a good citizen, it's his duty to answer you. But it's a gloomy time of night, don't you think? Why not wait till the morning? Mr Duckworthy won't run away.'
'I'm not so sure of that.'
'Oh, but I am. I will undertake to produce him whenever you want him. Won't that do? You're not charging him with anything, I suppose?'
'Not yet,' said the sergeant.
'Splendid. Then it's all quite friendly and pleasant, isn't it? How about a drink?'
The sergeant refused this kindly offer with some gruffness in his manner.
'On the waggon?' inquired Wimsey sympathetically. 'Bad luck. Kidneys? Or liver, eh?'
The sergeant made no reply.
'Well, we are charmed to have had the pleasure of seeing you,' pursued Wimsey. 'You'll look us up in the morning, won't you? I've got to get back to town fairly early, but I'll drop in at the police-station on my way. You will find Mr Duckworthy in the lounge, here. It will be more comfortable for you than at your place. Must you be going? Well, good night, all.'
Later, Wimsey returned to Mr Duckworthy, after seeing the police off the premises.
'Listen,' he said, 'I'm going up to town to do what I can. I'll send you up a solicitor first thing in the morning. Tell him what you've told me, and tell the police what he tells you to tell them and no more. Remember, they can't force you to say anything or to go down to the police-station unless they charge you. If they do charge you, go quietly and say nothing. And whatever you do, don't run away, because if you do, you're done for.'
Wimsey arrived in town the following afternoon, and walked down Holborn, looking for a barber's shop. He found it without much difficulty. It lay, as Mr Duckworthy had described it, at the end of a narrow passage, and it had a long mirror in the door, with the name Briggs scrawled across it in gold letters. Wimsey stared at his own reflection distastefully.
'Check number one,' said he, mechanically setting his tie to rights. 'Have I been led up the garden? Or is it a case of fourth dimensional mystery? 'The animals went in four by four, vive la compagnie! The camel he got stuck in the door.' There is something intensely unpleasant about making a camel of one's self. It goes for days without a drink and its table-manners are objectionable. But there is no doubt that this door is made of looking-glass. Was it always so, I wonder? On, Wimsey, on. I cannot bear to be shaved again. Perhaps a haircut might be managed.'
He pushed the door open, keeping a stern eye on his reflection to see that it played him no trick.
Of his conversation with the barber, which was lively and varied, only one passage is deserving of record.
'It's some time since I was in here,' said Wimsey. 'Keep it short behind the ears. Been redecorated, haven't you?'
'Yes, sir. Looks quite smart, doesn't it?'
'The mirror on the outside of the door--that's new, too, isn't it?'
'Oh, no, sir. That's been there ever since we took over.'
'Has it? Then it's longer ago than I thought. Was it there three years ago?'
'Oh yes, sir. Ten years Mr Briggs has been here, sir.'
'And the mirror too?'
'Oh, yes, sir.'
'Then it's my memory that's wrong. Senile decay setting in. 'All, all are gone, the old familiar landmarks.' No, thank you, if I go grey I'll go grey decently. I don't want any hair-tonics today, thank you. No, nor even an electric comb. I've had shocks enough.'
It worried him, though. So much so that when he emerged, he walked back a few yards along the street, and was suddenly struck by seeing the glass door of a tea-shop. It also lay at the end of a dark passage and had a
