in the character of the efficient Miss Robinson.
“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,