“I waited outside for ages—but they didn’t come out. At last I went in. Sir Eustace, there was no one in the shop! There must be another way out.”
I stared at him.
“As I was saying, I came back to the hotel and made some inquiries about Miss Pettigrew.” Pagett lowered his voice and breathed hard as he always does when he wants to be confidential. “Sir Eustace, a man was seen coming out of her room last night.”
I raised my eyebrows.
“And I always regarded her as a lady of such eminent respectability,” I murmured.
Pagett went on without heeding.
“I went straight up and searched her room. What do you think I found?”
I shook my head.
“This!”
Pagett held up a safety razor and a stick of shaving soap.
“What should a woman want with these?”
I don’t suppose Pagett ever reads the advertisements in the high-class ladies’ papers. I do. Whilst not proposing to argue with him on the subject, I refused to accept the presence of the razor as proof positive of Miss Pettigrew’s sex. Pagett is so hopelessly behind the times. I should not have been at all surprised if he had produced a cigarette case to support his theory. However, even Pagett has his limits.
“You’re not convinced, Sir Eustace. What do you say to this ?”