Mrs. Pettigrew-Robinson was not only angry, she was outraged. As a girl she had adopted the motto stamped upon the school notepaper: Quecunque honesta. She had always thought it wrong to let your mind dwell on anything that was not really nice. In middle life she still made a point of ignoring those newspaper paragraphs which bore such headlines as: "ASSAULT UPON A SCHOOLTEACHER AT CRICKLEWOOD"; "DEATH IN A PINT OF STOUT"; "FOR A KISS"; or "SHE CALLED HIM HUBBYKINS." She said she could not see what good it did you to know about such things. She regretted having consented to visit Riddlesdale Lodge in the absence of the Duchess. She had never liked Lady Mary; she considered her a very objectionable specimen of the modern independent young woman; besides, there had been that very undignified incident connected with a Bolshevist while Lady Mary was nursing in London during the war. Nor had Mrs. Pettigrew-Robinson at all cared for Captain Denis Cathcart. She did not like a young man to be handsome in that obvious kind of way. But, of course, since Mr. Pettigrew-Robinson had wanted to come to Riddlesdale, it was her place to be with him. She was not to blame for the unfortunate result.
Mr. Pettigrew-Robinson was angry, quite simply, because the detective from Scotland Yard had not accepted his help in searching the house and grounds for footprints. As an older man of some experience in these matters (Mr. Pettigrew-Robinson was a county magistrate) he had gone out of his way to place himself at the man's disposal. Not only had the man been short with him, but he had rudely ordered him out of the conservatory, where he (Mr. Pettigrew-Robinson) had been reconstructing the affair from the point of view of Lady Mary.
All these angers and embarrassments might have caused less pain to the company had they not been aggravated by the presence of the detective himself, a quiet young man in a tweed suit, eating curry at one end of the table next to Mr. Murbles, the solicitor. This person had arrived from London on Friday, had corrected the local police, and strongly dissented from the opinion of Inspector Craikes. He had suppressed at the inquest information which, if openly given, might have precluded the arrest of the Duke. He had officiously detained the whole unhappy party, on the grounds that he wanted to re-examine everybody, and was thus keeping them miserably cooped up together over a horrible Sunday; and he had put the copingstone on his offences by turning out to be an intimate friend of Lord Peter Wimsey's, and having, in consequence, to be accommodated with a bed in the gamekeeper's cottage and breakfast at the Lodge.
Mr. Murbles, who was elderly and had a delicate digestion, had travelled up in a hurry on Thursday night. He had found the inquest very improperly conducted and his client altogether impracticable. He had spent all his time trying to get hold of Sir Impey Biggs, K.C., who had vanished for the week-end, leaving no address. He was eating a little dry toast, and was inclined to like the detective who called him "Sir," and passed him the butter.
"Is anybody thinking of going to church?" asked the Duchess.
"Theodore and I should like to go," said Mrs. Pettigrew-Robinson, "if it is not too much trouble; or we could walk. It is not so very far."
"It's two and a half miles, good," said Colonel Marchbanks.
Mr. Pettigrew-Robinson looked at him gratefully.
"Of course you will come in the car," said the Duchess. "I am going myself."
"Are you, though?" said the Hon. Freddy. "I say, won't you get a bit stared at, what?"
"Really, Freddy," said the Duchess, "does that matter?"
"Well," said the Hon. Freddy, "I mean to say, these bounders about here are all Socialists and Methodists…"
"If they are Methodists," said Mrs. Pettigrew-Robinson, "they will not be at church."
"Won't they?" retorted the Hon. Freddy. "You bet they will if there's anything to see. Why, it'll be better'n a funeral to 'em."
"Surely," said Mrs. Pettigrew-Robinson, "one has a duty in the matter, whatever our private feelings may be-especially at the present day, when people are so terribly slack."
She glanced at the Hon. Freddy.
"Oh, don't you mind me, Mrs. P.," said that youth amiably. "All I say is, if these blighters make things unpleasant, don't blame me."
"Whoever thought of blaming you, Freddy?" said the Duchess.
"Manner of speaking," said the Hon. Freddy.
"What do you think, Mr. Murbles?" inquired her ladyship.
"I feel," said the lawyer, carefully stirring his coffee, "that, while your intention is a very admirable one, and does you very great credit, my dear lady, yet Mr. Arbuthnot is right in saying it may involve you in some-er-unpleasant publicity. Er-I have always been a sincere Christian myself, but I cannot feel that our religion demands that we should make ourselves conspicuous-er-in such very painful circumstances."
Mr. Parker reminded himself of a dictum of Lord Melbourne.
"Well, after all," said Mrs. Marchbanks, "as Helen so rightly says, does it matter? Nobody's really got anything to be ashamed of. There has been a stupid mistake, of course, but I don't see why anybody who wants to shouldn't go to church."
"Certainly not, certainly not, my dear," said the Colonel heartily. "We might look in ourselves, eh, dear? Take a walk that way I mean, and come out before the sermon. I think it's a good thing. Shows we don't believe old Denver's done anything wrong, anyhow."
"You forget, dear," said his wife, "I've promised to stay at home with Mary, poor girl."
"Of course, of course-stupid of me," said the Colonel. "How is she?"
"She was very restless last night, poor child," said the Duchess. "Perhaps she will get a little sleep this morning. It has been a shock to her."
"One which may prove a blessing in disguise," said Mrs. Pettigrew-Robinson.
"My dear!" said her husband.
"Wonder when we shall hear from Sir Impey," said Colonel Marchbanks hurriedly.
"Yes indeed," moaned Mr. Murbles. "I am counting on his influence with the Duke."
"Of course," said Mrs. Pettigrew-Robinson, "he must speak out-for everybody's sake. He must say what he was doing out of doors at that time. Or, if he does not, it must be discovered. Dear me! That's what these detectives are for, aren't they?"
"That is their ungrateful task," said Mr. Parker suddenly.
He had said nothing for a long time, and everybody jumped.
"There," said Mrs. Marchbanks, "I expect you'll clear it all up in no time, Mr. Parker. Perhaps you've got the real mur-the culprit up your sleeve all the time."
"Not quite," said Mr. Parker, "but I'll do my best to get him. Besides," he added, with a grin, "I'll probably have some help on the job."
"From whom?" inquired Mr. Pettigrew-Robinson.
"Her grace's brother-in-law."
"Peter?" said the Duchess. "Mr. Parker must be amused at the family amateur," she added.
"Not at all," said Parker. "Wimsey would be one of the finest detectives in England if he wasn't lazy. Only we can't get hold of him."
"I've wired to Ajaccio-poste restante," said Mr. Murbles, "but I don't know when he's likely to call there. He said nothing about when he was coming back to England."
"He's a rummy old bird," said the Hon. Freddy tactlessly, "but he oughter be here, what? What I mean to say is, if anything happens to old Denver, don't you see, he's the head of the family, ain't he-till little Pickled Gherkins comes of age."