“Agreed. Well, look here. I’ll run over to Paris myself and see what I can do. And you had better temporize with Pritchard. Tell him you think there will be no need to compromise and that we hope soon to be in possession of the precise facts. That’ll show him we don’t mean to have any truck with anythin’ fishy. I’ll learn him to cast nasturtiums at me!”
“And—oh, dear! there’s another thing. We must try and get hold of Major Fentiman to stop this exhumation.”
“Oh, lord!—Yes. That’s a bit awkward. Can’t you stop it by yourself?”
-“I hardly think I can. Major Fentiman has applied for it as executor, and I cannot quite see what I can do in the matter without his signature. The Home office would hardly—”
+“I hardly think I can. Major Fentiman has applied for it as executor, and I cannot quite see what I can do in the matter without his signature. The Home Office would hardly—”
“Yes. I quite see that you can’t mess about with the Home Office. Well, though, that’s easy. Robert never was keen on the resurrection idea. Once we’ve got his address, he’ll be only too happy to send you a chit to call the whole thing off. You leave it to me. After all, even if we don’t find Robert for a few days and the old boy has to be dug up after all, it won’t make things any worse. Will it?”
Mr. Murbles agreed, dubiously.
“Then I’ll pull the old carcass together,” said Wimsey, brightly, flinging the bedclothes aside and leaping to his feet, “and toddle off to the City of Light. Will you excuse me for a few moments, sir? The bath awaits me. Bunter, put a few things into a suitcase and be ready to come with me to Paris.”