“This is very interesting,” said Wimsey. “Is it possible-I fear it is-I think you must have encountered my unfortunate cousin Bredon.”
“That was the name-” began Dian, uncertainly, and stopped.
“I am glad to hear it,” replied Wimsey. “Sometimes he gives mine, which makes it very awkward.”
“See here, Dian,” broke in Milligan, “you seem to have dropped a brick. You’d better apologize and then we’ll clear. Sorry we crashed in, and all that-”
“One moment,” said Wimsey. “I should like to hear more about this. Be good enough to come into the house for a moment. This way.”
He ushered them courteously round the corner of the terrace, up a side path and by way of a French window into a small ante-room, laid out with tables and a cocktail bar.
“What will you drink? Whiskies? I might have known it. The abominable practice of putting whisky on top of mixed drinks late at night is responsible for more ruined complexions and reputations than any other single cause. There is many a woman now walking the streets of London through putting whisky on top of gin cocktails. Two stiff whiskies, Tomlin, and a liqueur brandy.”
“Very good, my lord.”
“You perceive,” said Wimsey, returning with the drinks, “the true object of this hospitable gesture. I have established my identity, by the evidence of the reliable Tomlin. Let us now seek a spot less open to interruption. I suggest the library. This way. My brother, being an English gentleman, possesses a library in all his houses, though he never opens a book. This is called fidelity to ancient tradition. The chairs, however, are comfortable. Pray be seated. And now, tell me all about your encounter with my scandalous cousin.”
“One moment,” said Milligan, before Dian could speak. “I think I know the stud-book pretty well. I was not aware that you had a cousin Bredon.”
“It is not every puppy that appears in the kennel-book,” replied Wimsey carelessly, “and it is a wise man that knows all his own cousins. But what matter? Family is family, though indicated by the border compony (or gobony if you prefer that form of the word) or by the bend or baton sinister, called by most writers of fiction the bar sinister, for reasons which I am unable to determine. My regrettable cousin Bredon, having no particular right to one family name more than another, makes it his practice to employ them all in turn, thus displaying a happy absence of favouritism. Please help yourselves to smokes. You will find the cigars passable, Mr.-er-”
“Milligan.”
“Ah the notor-the well-known Major Milligan? You have a residence on the river, I fancy. Charming, charming. Its fame has reached me from time to time through my good brother-in-law, Chief-Inspector Parker of Scotland Yard. A beautiful, retired spot, I believe?”
“Just so,” said Milligan. “I had the pleasure of entertaining your cousin there one night.”
“Did he gate-crash on you? That is exactly what he would do. And you have retorted upon my dear sister-in-law. Poetic justice, of course. I appreciate it-though possibly the Duchess will take a different view of the matter.”
“No; he was brought by a lady of my acquaintance.”
“He is improving. Major Milligan, painful though it may be to me, I feel that I ought to warn you against that cousin of mine. He is definitely not nice to know. If he has been thrusting his attentions upon Miss de Momerie, it is probably with some ulterior object. Not,” added Wimsey, “that any man would need an ulterior object for such attentions. Miss de Momerie is an object in herself-”
His eye wandered over Dian, scantily clothed and slightly intoxicated, with a cold appraisement which rendered the words almost impertinent.
“But,” he resumed, “I know my cousin Bredon-too well. Few people know him better. And I must confess that he is the last man to whom I should look for a disinterested attachment. I am unhappily obliged, in self-defence, to keep an eye on Cousin Bredon’s movements, and I should be deeply grateful to be informed of the details of his latest escapade.”
“All right, I’ll tell you,” said Dian. The whisky had strung her up to recklessness, and she became suddenly voluble, disregarding Milligan’s scowls. She poured out the tale of her adventures. The incident of the fountain-dive seemed to cause Lord Peter Wimsey acute distress.
“Vulgar ostentation!” he said, shaking his head. “How many times have I implored Bredon to conduct himself in a quiet and reasonable manner.”
“I thought he was too marvellous,” said Dian, and proceeded to relate the encounter in the wood.
“He always plays ‘Tom, Tom, the piper’s son,’ so of course, when you came along whistling it, I thought it was him.”
Wimsey’s face darkened in a most convincing manner.
“Disgusting,” he said.
“Besides, you are so much alike-the same voice and the same face as far as one can see it, you know. But of course he never took off his mask-”
“No wonder,” said Wimsey, “no wonder.” He heaved a deep sigh. ‘The police are interested in my cousin Bredon.”
“How thrilling!”
“What for?” demanded Milligan.
“For impersonating me, among other things,” said Wimsey, now happily launched and well away. “I cannot tell you in the brief time at our disposal, the distress and humiliation I have been put to on Bredon’s account. Bailing him out at police stations-honouring cheques drawn in my name-rescuing him from haunts of infamy-I am telling you all these distressing details in confidence, of course.”
“We won’t split,” said Dian.
“He trades upon our unfortunate resemblance,” went on Wimsey. “He copies my habits, smokes my favourite brand of cigarettes, drives a car like mine, even whistles my favourite air-one, I may say, peculiarly well adapted for performance upon the penny whistle.”
“He must be pretty well off,” said Dian, “to drive a car like that.”
“That,” said Wimsey, “is the most melancholy thing of all. I suspect him-but perhaps I had better not say anything about that.”
“Oh, do tell,” urged Dian, her eyes dancing with excitement. “It sounds too terribly breath-taking.”
“I suspect him,” said Wimsey, in solemn and awful tones, “of having to do with-smug-druggling-I mean, dash it all-drug-smuggling.”
“You don’t say so,” said Milligan.
“Well, I can’t prove it. But I have received warnings from a certain quarter. You understand me.” Wimsey selected a fresh cigarette and tapped it, with the air of one who has closed the coffin-lid upon a dead secret and is nailing it down securely. “I don’t want to interfere in your affairs in any way at all, Major Milligan. I trust that I shall never be called upon to do so.”
Here he transfixed Milligan with another hard stare. “But you will perhaps allow me to give you, and this lady, a word of warning. Do not have too much to do with my cousin Bredon.”
“I think you’re talking rot,” said Dian. “Why, you can’t even get him to-”
“Cigarette, Dian?” interrupted Milligan, rather sharply.
“I do not say,” resumed Wimsey, raking Dian slowly with his eyes, and then turning again to Milligan, “that my deplorable cousin is himself an addict to cocaine or heroin or anything of that description. In some ways, it would be almost more respectable if he were. The man or woman who can batten on the weaknesses of his fellow-creatures without sharing them is, I admit, to me a singularly disgusting object. I may be old-fashioned, but there it is.”
“Quite so,” said Milligan.
“I do not know, and do not wish to know,” went on Wimsey, “how you came to allow my cousin Bredon into your house, nor what, on his side, can have brought him there. I prefer not to suppose that he found there any other attraction than good drinks and good company. You may think, Major Milligan, that because I have interested myself in certain police cases, I am a consistent busybody. That is not the case. Unless I am forced to take an interest in another man’s business, I greatly prefer to let him alone. But I think it only fair to tell you that I am forced to take an interest in my cousin Bredon and that he is a person whose acquaintance might prove-shall I say, embarrassing?-to any one who preferred to live a quiet life. I don’t think I need say any more, need I?”