mouth of the dachshund next door but two and brought the foul deed home to the junior curate."
"I envy your spirits, Fortune," Lomas sighed. "You have no sister—no maiden sister."
And the desultory conversation turned feebly to something else. In fact, both men were feeling the strain of that tangled and squalid crime, the Pimlico murder. They had at last contrived to hang (you remember it) the reluctant borough councillor; but only Reggie Fortune could take a holiday. As he was going, he said that he thought of motoring in Devonshire.
"You'd better call on my sister and investigate her case." Lomas smiled sourly. "If it is a case. Sometimes I think it's a dream."
"Ragging in Girls' Schools. By our Special Commission. 'Orrible Revelations."
Lomas shook his head. "I'm afraid my sister won't take to you. She's not flippant."
"Lomas, don't be improper. A flippant headmistress. I blush."
A few days later Reggie Fortune drove into Tormouth, liked it, liked its hotel, and called on the Hon. Evelyn Lomas. Miss Lomas was her brother's sister in face and shape, correctly handsome, slight, dapper, not the least like her brother in manner. She was frankly middle-aged, brisk and direct.
