“What about it, old thing?” he asked. “Do you see, as the old bird put it, any rhyme or reason in the proceeding?”
“None whatever,” replied Tuppence cheerily.
“Well, that’s a start anyway! It shows that there is really something very deep at the back of it.”
“You think so?”
“It’s a generally accepted hypothesis. Remember Sherlock Holmes and the depth the butter had sunk into the parsley—I mean the other way round. I’ve always had a devouring wish to know all about that case. Perhaps Watson will disinter it from his notebook one of these days. Then I shall die happy. But we must get busy.”
“Quite so,” said Tuppence. “Not a quick man, the esteemed Wilmott, but sure.”
“She knows men,” said Tommy. “Or do I say he knows men. It is so confusing when you assume the character of a male detective.”
“Oh! my dear fellow, my dear fellow!”
“A little more action, Tuppence, and a little less repetition.”
“A classic phrase cannot be repeated too often,” said Tuppence with dignity.
“Have a muffin,” said Tommy kindly.
“Not at eleven o’clock in the morning, thank you. Silly case, this. Boots—you know—Why boots?”
“Well,” said Tommy, “why not?”