Clouds of Witness by Dorothy L. Sayers Page A

give an interview to a newspaper reporter. Besides, at these moments of crisis a wife's right place is at her husband's side. Lady Mary was ill, and nothing could be said about that, and if Peter chose to stay smoking cigarettes in his pyjamas while his only brother was undergoing public humiliation, that was only what might be expected. Peter took after his mother. How that eccentric strain had got into the family her grace could easily guess; the Dowager came of a good Hampshire family, but there was foreign blood at the roots of her family tree. Her own duty was clear, and she would do it.
    Lord Peter was awake, and looked rather fagged as though he had been sleuthing in his sleep. Bunter wrapped him solicitously in a brilliant Oriental robe, and placed the tray on his knees.
    "Bunter," said Lord Peter rather fretfully, "your café au lait is the one tolerable incident in this beastly place."
    "Thank you, my lord. Very chilly again this morning, my lord, but not actually raining."
    Lord Peter frowned over his letter.
    "Anything in the paper, Bunter?"
    "Nothing urgent, my lord. A sale next week at Northbury Hall-Mr. Fleetwhite's library, my lord-a Caxton Confessio Amantis -"
    "What's the good of tellin' me that when we're stuck up here for God knows how long? I wish to heaven I'd stuck to books and never touched crime. Did you send those specimens up to Lubbock?"
    "Yes, my lord," said Bunter gently. Dr. Lubbock was the "analytical gentleman."
    "Must have facts," said Lord Peter, "facts. When I was a small boy I always hated facts. Thought of 'em as nasty, hard things, all knobs. Uncompromisin'."
    "Yes, my lord. My old mother-"
    "Your mother, Bunter? I didn't know you had one. I always imagined you were turned out ready-made, so to speak. 'Scuse me. Infernally rude of me. Beg your pardon, I'm sure."
    "Not at all, my lord. My mother lives in Kent, my lord, near Maidstone. Seventy-five, my lord, and an extremely active woman for her years, if you'll excuse my mentioning it. I was one of seven."
    "That is an invention, Bunter. I know better. You are unique. But I interrupted you. You were goin' to tell me about your mother."
    "She always says, my lord, that facts are like if you look them in the face hard enough they generally run away. She is a very courageous woman, my lord."
    Lord Peter stretched out his hand impulsively, but Mr. Bunter was too well trained to see it. He had, indeed already begun to strop a razor. Lord Peter suddenly bundled out of bed with a violent jerk and sped across the landing to the bathroom.
    Here he revived sufficiently to lift up his voice in "Come unto these Yellow Sands." Thence, feeling in a Purcellish mood, he passed to "I attempt from Love's Sickness to Fly," with such improvement of spirits that, against all custom, he ran several gallons of cold water into the bath and sponged himself vigorously.
    Wherefore, after a rough towelling, he burst explosively from the bathroom, and caught his shin somewhat violently against the lid of a large oak chest which stood at the head of the staircase-so violently, indeed, that the lid lifted with the shock and shut down with a protesting bang.
    Lord Peter stopped to say something expressive and to caress his leg softly with the palm of his hand. Then a thought struck him. He set down his towels, soap, sponge, loofah, bath-brush, and other belongings, and quietly lifted the lid of the chest.
    Whether, like the heroine of Northanger Abbey, he expected to find anything gruesome inside was not apparent. It is certain that, like her, he beheld nothing more startling than certain sheets and counterpanes neatly folded at the bottom. Unsatisfied, he lifted the top one of these gingerly and inspected it for a few moments in the light of the staircase window. He was just returning it to its place, whistling softly the while, when a little hiss of indrawn breath caused him to look up with a start.
    His sister was at his elbow. He had not heard her come, but she stood