“If we are unable to reach any satisfactory conclusion about the time of the death, that will probably be the only way out of the difficulty. But at the moment there are certain obstacles—”
“Somebody’s being greedy, eh?—You’d rather not say more definitely, I suppose? No? H’m, well! From a purely detached point of view it’s a very pleasin’ and pretty little problem, you know.”
“You will undertake to solve it for us then, Lord Peter?”
Wimsey’s fingers tapped out an intricate fugal passage on the arm of his chair.
“If I were you, Murbles, I’d try again to get a settlement.”
“Do you mean,” asked Mr. Murbles, “that you think my clients have a losing case?”
“No—I can’t say that. By the way, Murbles, who is your client—Robert or George?”
“Well, the Fentiman family in general. I know, naturally, that Robert’s gain is George’s loss. But none of the parties wishes anything but that the actual facts of the case should be determined.”
“I see. You’ll put up with anything I happen to dig out?”
“Of course.”
“However favorable or unfavorable it may be?”
“I should not lend myself to any other course,” said Mr. Murbles, rather stiffly.
“I know that, sir. But—well!—I only mean that—Look here, sir! when you were a boy, did you ever go about pokin’ sticks and things into peaceful, mysterious lookin’ ponds, just to see what was at the bottom?”
“Frequently,” replied Mr. Murbles. “I was extremely fond of natural history and had a quite remarkable collection (if I may say so at this distance of time) of pond fauna.”
“Did you ever happen to stir up a deuce of a stink in the course of your researches?”
“My dear Lord Peter—you are making me positively uneasy.”
“Oh, I don’t know that you need be. I am only giving you a general warning, you know. Of course, if you wish it, I’ll investigate this business like a shot.”
“It’s very good of you,” said Mr. Murbles.
“Not at all. I shall enjoy it all right. If anything odd comes of it, that’s our funeral. You never know, you know.”
“If you decide that no satisfactory conclusion can be arrived at,” said Mr. Murbles, “we can always fall back on the settlement. I am sure all parties wish to avoid litigation.”
“In case the estate vanishes in costs? Very wise. I hope it may be feasible. Have you made any preliminary inquiries?”
“None to speak of. I would rather you undertook the whole investigation from the beginning.”
“Very well. I’ll start tomorrow and let you know how it gets on.”
The lawyer thanked him and took his departure. Wimsey sat pondering for a short time—then rang the bell for his manservant.
“A new notebook, please, Bunter. Head it ‘Fentiman’ and be ready to come round with me to the Bellona Club tomorrow, complete with camera and the rest of the outfit.”
“Very good, my lord. I take it your lordship has a new inquiry in hand?”
“Yes, Bunter—quite new.”
“May I venture to ask if it is a promising case, my lord?”
“It has its points. So has a porcupine. No matter. Begone, dull care! Be at great pains, Bunter, to cultivate a detached outlook on life. Take example by the bloodhound, who will follow up with equal and impartial zest the trail of a parricide or of a bottle of aniseed.”
“I will bear it in mind, my lord.”
Wimsey moved slowly across to the little black baby grand that stood in the corner of the library.
“Not Bach this evening,” he murmured to himself. “Bach for tomorrow when the gray matter begins to revolve.” A melody of Parry’s formed itself crooningly under his fingers. “For man worketh in a vain shadow … he heapeth up riches and cannot tell who shall gather them.” He laughed suddenly, and plunged into an odd, noisy, and painfully inharmonious study by a modern composer in the key of seven sharps.
IV
Lord Peter Leads a Club
“You are quite sure this suit is all right, Bunter?” said Lord Peter, anxiously.
It was an easy lounge suit, tweedy in texture, and a trifle more pronounced in color and pattern than Wimsey usually permitted himself. While not unsuitable for town wear, it yet diffused a faint suggestion of hills and the sea.
“I want to look approachable,” he went on, “but on no account loud. I can’t help wondering whether that stripe of invisible green wouldn’t have looked better if it had been a remote purple.”
This suggestion seemed to disconcert Bunter. There was a pause while he visualized a remote purple stripe. At length, however, the palpitating balance of his mind seemed to settle definitely down.
“No, my lord,” he said firmly, “I do not think purple would be an improvement. Interesting—yes; but, if I may so express myself, decidedly less affable.”
“Thank goodness,” said his lordship, “I’m sure you’re right. You always are. And it would have been a bore to get it changed now. You are sure you’ve removed all the newness, eh? Hate new clothes.”
“Positive, my lord. I assure your lordship that the garments have every appearance of being several months old.”
“Oh, all right. Well, give me the malacca with the foot-rule marked on it—and where’s my lens?”
“Here, my lord,” Bunter produced an innocent-looking monocle, which was, in reality, a powerful magnifier. “And the fingerprint powder is in your lordship’s right-hand coat-pocket.”
“Thanks. Well, I think that’s all. I’ll go on now, and I want you to follow on with the doings in about an hour’s time.”
The Bellona Club is situated in Piccadilly, not many hundred yards west of Wimsey’s own flat, which overlooks the Green Park. The commissionaire greeted him with a pleased smile.
“Mornin’, Rogers, how are you?”
“Very well, my lord, I thank you.”
“D’you know if Major Fentiman is in the Club, by the way?”
“No, my lord. Major Fentiman is not residing with us at present. I believe he is occupying the late General Fentiman’s flat, my lord.”
“Ah, yes—very sad business, that.”
“Very melancholy, my lord. Not a pleasant thing to happen in the Club. Very shocking, my lord.”
“Yes—still,
