"I beg your pardon?"
"More facts. Spill 'm!"
"Oh, I understand," said Mrs. Pett hastily, and embarked on a
brief narrative of the suspicious circumstances which had caused
her to desire skilled assistance.
"Lor' W'sbeach?" said Miss Trimble, breaking the story. "Who's
he?"
"A very great friend of ours."
"You vouch f'r him pers'n'lly? He's all right, uh? Not a crook,
huh?"
"Of course he is not!" said Mrs. Pett indignantly. "He's a great
friend of mine."
"All right. Well, I guess thass 'bout all, huh? I'll be going
downstairs 'an starting in."
"You can come here immediately?"
"Sure. Got parlour-maid rig round at m' boarding-house round
corner. Come back with it 'n ten minutes. Same dress I used when
I w's working on th' Marling D'vorce case. D'jer know th'
Marlings? Idle rich! Bound t' get 'nto trouble. I fixed 'm. Well,
g'bye. Mus' be going. No time t' waste."
Mrs. Pett leaned back faintly in her chair. She felt overcome.
Downstairs, on her way out, Miss Trimble had paused in the hall
to inspect a fine statue which stood at the foot of the stairs.
It was a noble work of art, but it seemed to displease her. She
snorted.
"Idle rich!" she muttered scornfully. "Brrh!"
The portly form of Mr. Crocker loomed up from the direction of
the back stairs. She fixed her left eye on him piercingly. Mr.
Crocker met it, and quailed. He had that consciousness of guilt
which philosophers tell is the worst drawback to crime.
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