To his surprise Iris changed the subject.
"What sort of brain have you?" she asked.
"Fair to middling, when it's lubricated. It works best on beer."
Could you write a detective thriller?"
"No. Can't spell."
"But could you solve one?"
"Every time."
"Then suppose you give me a demonstration. You've been very clever in proving Miss Froy could not exist. But - if she did - could you find out what might have happened to her? Or is it too difficult?"
Hare burst out laughing.
"I used to think," he said, "that if ever I liked a girl, I'd be cut out by some beautiful band conductor with waved hair. I'm hanged if I thought I'd have to play second fiddle to an ancient governess. Time's revenge, I suppose. Long ago, I bit one. And she was a good governess . . . . Well, here goes."
"What sort of brain have you?" she asked.
"Fair to middling, when it's lubricated. It works best on beer."
Could you write a detective thriller?"
"No. Can't spell."
"But could you solve one?"
"Every time."
"Then suppose you give me a demonstration. You've been very clever in proving Miss Froy could not exist. But - if she did - could you find out what might have happened to her? Or is it too difficult?"
Hare burst out laughing.
"I used to think," he said, "that if ever I liked a girl, I'd be cut out by some beautiful band conductor with waved hair. I'm hanged if I thought I'd have to play second fiddle to an ancient governess. Time's revenge, I suppose. Long ago, I bit one. And she was a good governess . . . . Well, here goes."
