“I wished to ask you, my lord, whether your lordship thought of making any changes in your establishment?”
Wimsey laid down his pen and stared at the man.
“Changes, Bunter? When I have just so eloquently expressed to you my undying attachment to the loved routine of coffee, bath, razor, socks, eggs and bacon and the old, familiar faces? You’re not giving me warning, are you?”
“No, indeed, my lord. I should be very sorry to leave your lordship’s service. But I had thought it possible that, if your lordship was about to contract new ties—”
“I knew it was something in the haberdashery line! By all means, Bunter, if you think it necessary. Had you any particular pattern in mind?”
“Your lordship misunderstands me. I referred to domestic ties, my lord. Sometimes when a gentleman reorganizes his household on a matrimonial basis, the lady may prefer to have a voice in the selection of the gentleman’s personal attendant, in which case—”
“Bunter!” said Wimsey, considerably startled, “may I ask where you have contracted these ideas?”
“I ventured to draw an inference, my lord.”
“This comes of training people to be detectives. Have I been nourishing a sleuth-hound on my own hearth-stone? May I ask if you have gone so far as to give a name to the lady?”
“Yes, my lord.”
There was a pause.
“Well?” said Wimsey, in a rather subdued tone, “what about it, Bunter?”
“A very agreeable lady, if I may say so, my lord.”
“It strikes you that way, does it? The circumstances are unusual, of course.”
“Yes, my lord. I might perhaps make so bold as to call them romantic.”
“You may make so bold as to call them damnable, Bunter.”
“Yes, my lord,” said Bunter, in a tone of sympathy.
“You won’t desert the ship, Bunter?”
“Not on any account, my lord.”
“Then don’t come frightening me again. My nerves are not what they were. Here is the note. Take it round and do your best.”
“Very good, my lord.”
“Oh, and, Bunter.”
“My lord?”
“It seems that I am being obvious. I have no wish to be anything of the kind. If you see me being obvious, will you drop a hint?”
“Certainly, my lord.”
Bunter faded gently out, and Wimsey stepped anxiously to the mirror.
“I can’t see anything,” he said to himself. “No lily on my cheek with anguish moist and fever-dew. I suppose, though, it’s hopeless to try and deceive Bunter. Never mind. Business must come first. I’ve stopped one, two, three, four earths. What next? How about this fellow Vaughan?”
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