Ramillies,â he said.
ââAve yer?â The black eyes expressed disapproval. âI ainât and I donât want to. A ruddy awful chap. âIde your wife in a ditch rather than let âim set eyes on her. âEâs a proper blot. I tell you what, if you âad to set in public court and âear a beak talkinâ to âim after the sentence youâd âave to turn your âead away. Youâd blush; thatâs a fact.â
âThatâs slander,â said Campion mildly. âThe manâs never been in the dock in his life.â
âAnd wotâs that?â Lugg was virtuous. âAs you very well know, thereâs a lot of people walkinâ about to-day âoo ought to be in the jug by rights. âE âappens to be one of them, thatâs all.â
Long experience had taught Mr Campion not to argue with his aide in this mood, but he felt bound to protest.
âYou mustnât drivel libel about people. Youâre like a woman.â
âHo!â The insult penetrated the skin and Mr Luggâs mountainous form quivered. âYouâve got no right to say a thing like that, cock,â he said earnestly. âI know what Iâm sayinâ. Sir Ramillies is mud, not so good as mud. Heâs done one man in, to my certain knowledge, and the army tales about âim make my âair curl, wherever it may be now. âEreâs an instance. Take the time of the Irish trouble. There was a couple of fellers come over to England after âim. They were lookinâ for âim, I admit that, but neither of âem âad a gun. They lay for âim up in Hampstead where âe used to live. âE spotted âem and went for âem quick as a flash. âE caught one chap and killed âim with âis bare âands â broke âis neck. The bloke was on the run, mind you, but Ramillies got âim by the âair and forced âis chin up until âe âeard âis neck go. âE was only a little feller. It was âushed up when they found out the lads were reely after âim and it was self-defence, and Ramillies was ruddy pleased with âimself. Saw âimself a Tarzan. I donât know what you think about it, but it donât sound quite nice to me; not at all the article. Itâs downright brutish, look at it how you like. Put me off the chap for life. Itâs not respectable to lose your temper like that. Makes you no better than an animal. Itâs dangerous, for one thing.â
The story was certainly not attractive, and it occurred to Mr Campion that it was unfortunate that, having met Ramillies, it did not strike him as being obviously untrue.
âDo you know this for a fact?â
âOf course I do.â Lugg was contemptuous. âI âad a drink with the other bloke. âE
was
in a state â not frightened, you know, but shook. Thereâs other tales about Ramillies not as pretty as that. I wouldnât soil yer ears with âem. âEâs not the bloke for your sis to sit down to table with, not if she was in Salvation Army uniform, take it from me.â
Mr Campion said no more. He remained sitting at his desk with his head slightly on one side and an introspective expression in his eyes.
He was still there, drumming idly on the blotter with his long, thin fingers, when the doorbell buzzed and a subtle change came over Mr Lugg.
He straightened his back from his ministrations at the cocktail cabinet and padded over to the wall-mirror, where he settled his collar, arranging his chins upon its white pedestal with great care. Having thus set the stage, he pulled a silk handkerchief out of his side pocket and gave his glistening head a good rub with it, using it immediately afterwards to give a flick to the toe of each patent-leather pump. Then he pulled himself up to attention and, turning all in one piece with his plump hands flat against