heart, but I’m damned if you shall deny its existence.”
“You argue like an Elizabethan wit—two meanings under one word.”
“It was your word. You will have to deny something, if you intend to be like Caesar’s sacrifice.”
“Caesar’s...?”
“A beat without a heart. Has your napkin gone again?”
“No—it’s my bag this time. It’s just under your left foot.”
“Oh!” He looked round, but the waiter had vanished. “Well,” he went on, without moving, “it is the heart’s office to wait upon the brain, but in view of—”
“Please don’t trouble,” said Harriet, “it doesn’t matter in the least.”
“In view of the fact that I’ve got two cracked ribs, I’d better not try; because if once got down I should probably never get up again.”
“Good gracious!” said Harriet. “I thought you seemed a little stiff in your manner. Why on earth didn’t you say so before, instead of sitting there like a martyr and inveigling me into misjudging you?”
“I don’t seem able to do anything right,” he said plaintively.
“How did you manage to do it?”
“Fell off a wall in the most inartistic manner. I was in a bit of a hurry; there was a very plain-looking bloke on the other side with a gun. It wasn’t so much the wall, as the wheelbarrow at the bottom. And it isn’t really so much the ribs as the sticking-plaster. It’s strapped as tight as hell and itches infernally.”
“How beastly for you. I’m so sorry. What became of the bloke with the gun?”
“Ah! I’m afraid personal complications won’t trouble him any longer.”
“If the luck had been the other way, I suppose they wouldn’t have troubled you any longer?”
“Probably not. And then I shouldn’t have troubled you any longer. If my mind had been where my heart was, I might have welcomed that settlement. But my mind being momentarily on my job, I ran away with the greatest rapidity, so as to live to finish the case.”
“Well, I’m glad of that, Peter.”
“Are you? That shows how hard it is for even the most powerful brain to be completely heartless. Let me see. It is not my day for asking you to marry me, and a few yards of sticking plaster are hardly enough to make it a special occasion. But we’ll have coffee in the lounge, if you don’t mind, because this chair is getting as hard as the wheelbarrow, and seems to be catching me in several of the same places.”
He got up cautiously. The waiter arrived and restored Harriet’s bag, together with some letters which she had taken from the postman as she left the house and thrust into the outer pocket of the bag without reading. Wimsey steered his guest into the lounge, established her in a chair and lowered himself with a grimace into one corner of a low couch.
“Rather a long way down, isn’t it?”
“It’s all right when you get there. Sorry to be always presenting myself in such a decrepit state. I do it on purpose, of course, to attract attention and awaken sympathy; but I’m afraid the manoeuvre’s getting rather obvious. Would you like a liqueur with the coffee or a brandy? Two old brandies, James.”
“Very good, my lord. This was found under the table in the dining room, madam.”
“More of your scattered belongings?” said Wimsey, as she took the postcard; then, seeing her flush and frown of disgust, “What is it?”
“Nothing,” said Harriet, pushing the ugly scrawl into her bag.
He looked at her.
“Do you often get that kind of thing?”
“What kind of thing?”
“Anonymous dirt.”
“Not very often now. I got one at Oxford. But they used to come by every post. Don’t worry; I’m used to it. I only wish I’d looked at it before I got here. It’s horrible of me to have dropped it about your club for the servants to read.”
“Careless little devil, aren’t you? May I see it?”
“No, Peter; please.”
“Give it to me.”
She handed it to him without looking up. “ Ask your boy friend with the title if
“You argue like an Elizabethan wit—two meanings under one word.”
“It was your word. You will have to deny something, if you intend to be like Caesar’s sacrifice.”
“Caesar’s...?”
“A beat without a heart. Has your napkin gone again?”
“No—it’s my bag this time. It’s just under your left foot.”
“Oh!” He looked round, but the waiter had vanished. “Well,” he went on, without moving, “it is the heart’s office to wait upon the brain, but in view of—”
“Please don’t trouble,” said Harriet, “it doesn’t matter in the least.”
“In view of the fact that I’ve got two cracked ribs, I’d better not try; because if once got down I should probably never get up again.”
“Good gracious!” said Harriet. “I thought you seemed a little stiff in your manner. Why on earth didn’t you say so before, instead of sitting there like a martyr and inveigling me into misjudging you?”
“I don’t seem able to do anything right,” he said plaintively.
“How did you manage to do it?”
“Fell off a wall in the most inartistic manner. I was in a bit of a hurry; there was a very plain-looking bloke on the other side with a gun. It wasn’t so much the wall, as the wheelbarrow at the bottom. And it isn’t really so much the ribs as the sticking-plaster. It’s strapped as tight as hell and itches infernally.”
“How beastly for you. I’m so sorry. What became of the bloke with the gun?”
“Ah! I’m afraid personal complications won’t trouble him any longer.”
“If the luck had been the other way, I suppose they wouldn’t have troubled you any longer?”
“Probably not. And then I shouldn’t have troubled you any longer. If my mind had been where my heart was, I might have welcomed that settlement. But my mind being momentarily on my job, I ran away with the greatest rapidity, so as to live to finish the case.”
“Well, I’m glad of that, Peter.”
“Are you? That shows how hard it is for even the most powerful brain to be completely heartless. Let me see. It is not my day for asking you to marry me, and a few yards of sticking plaster are hardly enough to make it a special occasion. But we’ll have coffee in the lounge, if you don’t mind, because this chair is getting as hard as the wheelbarrow, and seems to be catching me in several of the same places.”
He got up cautiously. The waiter arrived and restored Harriet’s bag, together with some letters which she had taken from the postman as she left the house and thrust into the outer pocket of the bag without reading. Wimsey steered his guest into the lounge, established her in a chair and lowered himself with a grimace into one corner of a low couch.
“Rather a long way down, isn’t it?”
“It’s all right when you get there. Sorry to be always presenting myself in such a decrepit state. I do it on purpose, of course, to attract attention and awaken sympathy; but I’m afraid the manoeuvre’s getting rather obvious. Would you like a liqueur with the coffee or a brandy? Two old brandies, James.”
“Very good, my lord. This was found under the table in the dining room, madam.”
“More of your scattered belongings?” said Wimsey, as she took the postcard; then, seeing her flush and frown of disgust, “What is it?”
“Nothing,” said Harriet, pushing the ugly scrawl into her bag.
He looked at her.
“Do you often get that kind of thing?”
“What kind of thing?”
“Anonymous dirt.”
“Not very often now. I got one at Oxford. But they used to come by every post. Don’t worry; I’m used to it. I only wish I’d looked at it before I got here. It’s horrible of me to have dropped it about your club for the servants to read.”
“Careless little devil, aren’t you? May I see it?”
“No, Peter; please.”
“Give it to me.”
She handed it to him without looking up. “ Ask your boy friend with the title if
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