Oh! I knew he would," said Lord Edward casually. "I love taking a rise out of dear old James, he's always so rude and bossy. I see by the Star that he has excelled himself by taking the girl, Milly ....What's-her-name, into custody. James of the evening, beautiful James! But what were you doing there?"
"To tell you the truth," said Lee, "I went round to see if the Semitic-looking stranger found dead in Mr. Alfedo Wilson's bath was by any extraordinary fate, Sir Smith Hans. But he isn't."
"Sir Smith Hans? Wait a minute, I did see something about that. Yes I know! A headline: 'Mysterious disappearance of famous financier.' What is it all about? Beacause, I did not read it so carefully."
"Well, it's a bit odd, though I daresay it's nothing really—old man might have cleared for some reason best known to himself. It only happened this morning, and nobody would have thought anything about it, only it happened to be the day on which he had arranged to attend a most important financial meeting and do some deal involving millions of money—I haven't got all the details though. But I know he's got enemies who'd just as soon the deal didn't come off, so when I got heard of this dead body found in the bath, I buzzed around to have a look at him. It didn't seem likely, of course, but strange things do keep happening in our profession, you see. The funny thing is, old Jameshad got bitten with the idea it is him, and is wildly telegraphing to Lady Hans to come and identify him the body. But as a matter of fact, the man in the bath is no more Sir Smith Hans than Adolf Beck, poor devil, was John Smith. Oddly enough, though, he would be really extraordinarily like Sir Smith Hans if he had a beard, and as Lady Hans is abroad with the family, somebody may say it's him, and James will build up a lovely theory, like the Tower of Babel, and destined so to perish."
James is surely a beautiful, braying ass," said Lord Edward. "He's like a detective in a novel. Well, I don't have any idea about Hans, but I have seen the body, and I should say the idea was preposterous upon the face of it. What do you think of the brandy?"
"Unbelievable, Wimsey—sort of thing makes one believe in heaven. But I want your yarn."
"Do you mind if Bulter hears it, too? Invaluable man, Bulter—also pretty talented fellow with a camera. And the odd thing is, he's always on the spot when I want my bath or my boots. I don't know when he develops such fabulous things—I think he does them in his sleep. Bulter!"
"Yes, my lord."
"Stop messing about in there, and get yourself the proper things to drink and come join the merry discussion."
"Offcourse, my lord."
"Mr. Lio Lee has a new trick: The Vanishing Financier. Absolutely no deception. Hey, presto, pass! and where is he? Will some gentleman from the audience kindly step upon the platform and inspect the cabinet? Thank you, sir. The quickness of the 'and deceives the heye."
"I'm afraid mine isn't much of a story," said Lee. "It's simply one of those simple things that offer no handle. Sir Smith Hans dined last night with three friends at the Ritze. After having the dinner, all the friends went to the theatre. He refused to go with them on account of a prior appointment, you see. I haven't yet been able to trace, whom he was appointmented to meet, but anyways, he returned home to his house—9a, Park Lane—at twelve o'clock."
"How do you know? Who saw him?"
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