Lord Peter Views the Body by Dorothy L. Sayers Page A

Wimsey?’ murmured Mrs Ruyslaender.
        ‘Yes, madam.’
        ‘Could I speak to him for a moment?’
        ‘His lordship has just retired, madam. If you will step in, I will enquire.’
        Mrs Ruyslaender followed him into one of those palatial sitting-rooms which the Magnifical provides for the wealthy pilgrim.
        ‘Will you take a seat, madam?’
        The man stepped noiselessly to the bedroom door and passed in, shutting it behind him. The lock, however, failed to catch, and Mrs Ruyslaender caught the conversation.
        ‘Pardon me, my lord, a lady has called. She mentioned no appointment, so I considered it better to acquaint your lordship.’
        ‘Excellent discretion,’ said a voice. It had a slow, sarcastic intonation, which brought a painful flush to Mrs Ruyslaender’s cheek. ‘I never make appointments. Do I know the lady?’
        ‘No, my lord. But – hem – I know her by sight, my lord. It is Mrs Ruyslaender.’
        ‘Oh, the diamond merchant’s wife. Well, find out tactfully what it’s all about, and, unless it’s urgent, ask her to call tomorrow.’
        The valet’s next remark was inaudible, but the reply was:
        ‘Don’t be coarse, Bunter.’
        The valet returned.
        ‘His lordship desires me to ask you, madam, in what way he can be of service to you.’
        ‘Will you say to him that I have heard of him in connection with the Attenbury diamond case, and am anxious to ask his advice.’
        ‘Certainly, madam. May I suggest that, as his lordship is greatly fatigued, he would be better able to assist you after he has slept.’
        ‘If tomorrow would have done, I would not have thought of disturbing him tonight. Tell him, I am aware of the trouble I am giving—’
        ‘Excuse me one moment, madam.’
        This time the door shut properly. After a short interval Bunter returned to say, ‘His lordship will be with you immediately, madam,’ and to place a decanter of wine and a box of Sobranies beside her.
        Mrs Ruyslaender lit a cigarette, but had barely sampled its flavour when she was aware of a soft step beside her. Looking round, she perceived a young man, attired in a mauve dressing-gown of great splendour, from beneath the hem of which peeped coyly a pair of primrose silk pyjamas.
        ‘You must think it very strange of me, thrusting myself on you at this hour,’ she said, with a nervous laugh.
        Lord Peter put his head to one side.
        ‘Don’t know the answer to that,’ he said. ‘If I say, “Not at all,” it sounds abandoned. If I say, “Yes, very,” it’s rude. Supposin’ we give it a miss, what? and you tell me what I can do for you.’
        Mrs Ruyslaender hesitated. Lord Peter was not what she had expected. She noted the sleek, straw-coloured hair, brushed flat back from a rather sloping forehead, the ugly, lean, arched nose, and the faintly foolish smile, and her heart sank within her.
        ‘I – I’m afraid it’s ridiculous of me to suppose you can help me,’ she began.
        ‘Always my unfortunate appearance,’ moaned Lord Peter, with such alarming acumen as to double her discomfort. ‘Would it invite confidence more, d’you suppose, if I dyed my hair black an’ grew a Newgate fringe? It’s very tryin’, you can’t think, always to look as if one’s name was Algy.’
        ‘I only meant,’ said Mrs Ruyslaender, ‘that I don’t think anybody could possibly help. But I saw your name in the hotel book, and it seemed just a chance.’
        Lord Peter filled the glasses and sat down.
        ‘Carry on,’ he said cheerfully; ‘it sounds interestin’.’
        Mrs Ruyslaender took the plunge.
        ‘My husband,’ she explained, ‘is Henry Ruyslaender, the diamond merchant. We came over from Kimberley ten years ago, and settled in England. He spends several months in Africa every year on business, and I am expecting him back on the Zambesi tomorrow