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think I’d almost rather they called it Ye Olde Snuggerie and had done with it,” said Rupert.
    But there was nothing ‘olde’ about the barmaid who presided among concealed lights, bottles with nylon cobwebson them and all the paraphernalia of cocktail-making. She believed herself very much of the later half of the present century, in spite of an almost Restoration bosom.
    â€œYes?” she said.
    While Carolus looked at his evening paper, Rupert decided to be mischievous.
    â€œWhat cocktails can you do?”
    â€œAny you want, really. Want a Sidecar?”
    â€œI thought you might say that. No, dear; cocktails went out with vaudeville. I don’t know what you keep all this gear on the counter for.”
    â€œWhen you’ve
quite
finished,” said the barmaid, “let me tell you that we have quite a call for cocktails.”
    â€œDo you, now? I suppose you might. Cocktails in the Snuggery. It’s wonderfully pre-war.”
    â€œWhat are you going to have?” asked the barmaid dangerously.
    â€œShake you if I said an Angel’s Kiss or a Bunny-Hug, wouldn’t it? No, I’ll have a Scotch straight and my friend will have a double with soda, no ice. What’s it like to work in a snuggery? Snug?”
    â€œYou’re a cheeky little runt, aren’t you? Don’t know whether I ought to have served you with Scotch. You over eighteen?”
    â€œNo, dear, I’m rising sixteen,” said Rupert. “I hope the local copper comes in.”
    The barmaid, who was not so very much older than Rupert, seemed anxious to say something impressive while she maintained her pose of aloofness.
    â€œWe had a murderer staying here the other day,” she observed.
    Rupert yawned.
    â€œBut they’re so common nowadays. All over the place. You can’t travel in a train without rubbing shoulders with one.”
    â€œNo. But this was a real murderer. He shot a man a mile away.”
    â€œMust have been a good shot.”
    â€œI mean it happened a mile away. At Barton Place. He booked in here the night before.”
    â€œPleasant type? Most of them are, I believe.”
    â€œThis wasn’t. He was horrible.”
    â€œBoris Karloff character?”
    â€œWell, he gave you the creeps. Shouted at you as if you were deaf.”
    â€œWhat did he drink?”
    â€œSaid he was a teetotaller. Had one of these new drinks—Pineapple and Grapefruit.”
    â€œRevolting.”
    â€œBut the funny thing was we might have known if we’d only thought about it. He was asking the way up to Barton Place. I mean if we’d have known there was going to be a murder.”
    â€œYou’d have known this was going to be the murderer? Then you’d have warned everyone and there wouldn’t have been a murder.”
    â€œI don’t know. I didn’t feel comfortable afterwards to know he’d been in the house.”
    â€œGetting rather involved, aren’t we? Have a drink. What did you say your name was? No, let me guess. It can only be something exotic, like Zöe.”
    â€œThey call me Mickie, as a matter of fact.”
    â€œVery nice too. Tell me more about your murderer.”
    â€œWell, Mrs Gunn could tell you more than what I could, really. She did his room.”
    â€œWho is Mrs Gunn?”
    â€œShe’s one of the ladies who work in the hotel. What number rooms have you got?”
    â€œSeventeen and eighteen.”
    â€œHave you really? He had eighteen. That’s one of Mrs Gunn’s.”
    â€œI suppose the dinner will be delicious? Grand old English cooking?”
    â€œIt’s ever so nice tonight. We’ve just got a new cook.”
    They went through to the dining-room, where they ate the usual tinned soup, tasteless plaice from the icebox in composite batter, a shaving of cold meat with hot gravy over it, tinned peas and processed cheese. A wine list was produced, and Carolus ordered a