his voice and breathed hard as he always does when he wants to be confidential. "Sir Eustace, a man was seen coming out of her room last night."
I raised my eyebrows.
"And I always regarded her as a lady of such eminent respectability," I murmured.
Pagett went on without heeding.
"I went straight up and searched her room. What do you think I found?"
I shook my head.
"This!"
Pagett held up a safety razor and a stick of shaving soap.
"What should a woman want with these?"
I don't suppose Pagett ever reads the advertisements in the high-class ladies' papers. I do. Whilst not proposing to argue with him on the subject, I refused to accept the presence of the razor as proof positive of Miss Pettigrew's sex. Pagett is so hopelessly behind the times. I should not have been at all surprised if he had produced a cigarette-case to support his theory. However, even Pagett has his limits.
"You're not convinced, Sir Eustace. What do you say to this?"
I inspected the article which he dangled aloft triumphantly.
"It looks like hair," I remarked distastefully.
"It is hair. I think it's what they call a toupee."
"Indeed," I commented.
"Now are you convinced that that Pettigrew woman is a man in disguise?"
"Really, my dear Pagett, I think I am. I might have known it by her feet."
"Then that's that. And now, Sir Eustace, I want to speak to you about my private affairs. I cannot doubt,
