The Case of the Late Pig

'Your people got hold of Effie, and you set her on to me, I suppose?' I said coldly.

'Er — yes,' agreed Whippet, without shame.

Poppy glanced round the room. 'Where is she now?' she demanded.

Whippet beamed. It was the broadest smile I ever saw on his face.

'With — er — Bathwick,' he murmured. 'They've gone into the town, to the pictures. Very suitable, I thought. Happy endings and — er — all that.'

I gaped at him. He had my respect.

When Lugg and I went back to London the next day, Poppy, who had come to Highwaters for lunch, stood with Leo and waved good-bye to us from the lawn. The sky was dappled blue and white, the birds sang, and the air smelt of hay.

Janet, with Whippet in tow, came running up to us just before we started. Her eyes were dancing, and she looked adorable.

'Congratulate us, Albert,' she said. 'We're engaged. Isn't it wonderful?'

I gave them my blessing with a good grace. Whippet blinked at me.

'I'm indebted to you, Campion,' he said.

We drove for some time in silence. I was thoughtful and Lugg, who was as bald as an egg, seemed depressed. As we reached the main road he nudged me.

'What a performance!' he said.

'Whose?' I inquired, not above appreciating a little honour where honour was due.

He leered. 'That bloke Whippet. Come down to a place with Miss Effie Rowlandson, and go orf with Miss Janet Pursuivant.... That took a bit o' doing.'

'Lugg,' I said sadly, 'would you like to walk home?'