“I seen wuss; and in this room. ’E’ll live ter break someone’s ’eart. Come on into the barfroom, mate, and we’ll start the beauty treatment.”
An hour later he was still talking. Timothy, who was looking much more like himself, was wrapped in a bathrobe of his host’s while Lugg considered his ruined clothes.
“No,” he said regretfully, turning over the torn and blood-soaked flannel trousers. “Not reely. Not for a funeral. It would be ’eartless and not quite the article. ’Oose is it? Someone yer know?”
“Hardly at all. She was a stranger. Just an elderly woman staying in the house.”
The young man appeared to be defending himself and Mr. Lugg’s bright eyes narrowed.
“Yus?” he encouraged. “Wot’s ’er name?”
“Miss Saxon. I hardly knew her, I’m afraid, but the funeral was announced in the Tim
