“You were through it, I suppose?”
“Pretty well. I was wounded once, and after the Somme they invalided me
out altogether. I had a half fledged Army job for a bit. I’m a sort of
private secretary now to an M. P.”
“My! That’s brainy!”
“No, it isn’t. There’s really awfully little to do. Usually a couple of
hours every day sees me through. It’s dull work too. In fact, I don’t
know what I should do if I hadn’t got something to fall back upon.”
“Don’t say you collect bugs!”
“No. I share rooms with a very interesting man. He’s a Belgian—an
ex-detective. He’s set up as a private detective in London, and he’s
doing extraordinarily well. He’s really a very marvellous little man.
Time and again he has proved to be right where the official police have
failed.”
My companion listened with widening eyes.
“Isn’t that interesting, now? I just adore crime. I go to all the
mysteries on the movies. And when there’s a murder on I just devour the
papers.”
“Do you remember the Styles Case?” I asked.
“Let me see, was that the old lady who was poisoned? Somewhere down in
Essex?”