Free Flowers For the Judge by Margery Allingham Page B

because I see in the paper that a certain important relative of yours is not too well, and if anything ’appened to ’im and you were suddenly called to take your place in the world I should like to be prepared.’
    ‘Yes, well, of course, you’re revolting,’ said Mr Campion, getting up. ‘Ten years ago you climbed up the side of a three-storey house with the agility of a monkey, let yourself through a skylight, opened a safe and got away as clean as a whistle, and now look at you. You couldn’t steal a bag of sweets from a two-year-old in a pram.’
    ‘I shouldn’t want to, I hope,’ said Mr Lugg, with dignity . ‘Besides,’ he added, lowering his puffy white lids over his little black eyes and achieving a superbly virtuous expression, ‘them things all belong to the past. It’s the future we’ve got to think of, and that’s why I do ’ope you’ll steer clear of anything with a nasty flavour. It looked very bad in the evening newspapers and not at all the sort of thing you want to get our names mixed up with.’
    ‘You’ve gone soft, Lugg,’ said Campion, with regret. ‘I haven’t given you enough work lately. I don’t think there’s much in this case for you either.’
    ‘I’m glad to ’ear it.’ Mr Lugg was positive. ‘When they was all talking about it at the club, discussin’ the details, I said to myself, “I do ’ope I keep out of this.” It isn’t even as though we’re on the side of the police.’
    Mr Campion perched himself on the edge of the desk and wrapped the folds of his thin and rather dilapidated silk dressing-gown around his bony form.
    ‘When you say “the club”, do you mean that pub in Wardour Street?’ he inquired.
    A wooden expression crept into Mr Lugg’s face.
    ‘No. I don’t go there any more. I took exception to some of the members. Very low type of person, they were. If you want to know, I go to a very quiet, respectable little place in a mews up Mayfair way. There are several nice people there in me own line of business.’
    ‘Gentlemen’s gentlemen, I suppose?’ said Mr Campion sarcastically.
    ‘Exactly,’ agreed Mr Lugg belligerently. ‘And why not? A nice superior class of person I meet and hear all the gossip.’
    ‘I’m disgusted with you.’ Campion sounded genuine. ‘You make me sick. I’ve a good mind to sack you.’
    ‘You try,’ said Mr Lugg, with a return of his old fire. ‘I’d like to know where you’d be – as helpless as a babe unborn. I’ve trained you not to be able to do without me. You drop the case and we won’t say anything more about it. Nothin’ could be fairer than that.
    ‘After all,’ he went on persuasively as he noticed no sign of capitulation in Mr Campion’s expression, ‘once sex rears its ugly ’ead it’s time to steer clear. You know that as well as I do.’
    Mr Campion’s mystified expression deepened.
    ‘You’re not trying to be funny?’ he suggested.
    ‘Do I ever try to be funny?’ said Mr Lugg, with justifiable reproach. ‘It’s not a funny subjec’.’
    Campion stirred. ‘Where did you get this – this sex idea?’ he said. ‘I thought the papers were very reticent. They must be, of course, the law of libel being what it is.’
    ‘Readin’ between the lines,’ said Mr Lugg darkly. ‘Libel or no libel, if you reads the newspapers properly it’s always clear what’s ’appened. It’s not what they say: it’s the way they say it.’
    Campion frowned. ‘There’s a lot of truth in that, unfortunately,’ he observed. ‘After your little mug between the lines, what do you deduce?’
    ‘The wife did it, of course. They published ’er photograph. Did you see it? Nice-lookin’ little bit – just the type.’
    Mr Campion shuddered. ‘Lugg, you’ve done it this time,’ he said. ‘Get out.’
    Before the vigour of the command Mr Lugg was abashed.
    ‘No offence, Cock,’ he said hastily. ‘I don’t know anything about the inside story. I’m only tellin’ you how it