Round and round, like a squirrel in a cage, till at last Harriet had to say firmly too herself: This won’t do, or I shall go potty myself. I’d better keep my mind on the job. What’s taken Peter to York? Miss de Vine? If I hadn’t lost my temper I might have found out, instead of wasting time in quarrelling. I wonder if he’s made any notes on the dossier.
She took up the loose-leaf book, which was still wrapped in its paper and string and sealed all over with the Wimsey crest. ‘As my Whimsy takes me’—Peter’s whimsies had taken him into a certain amount of trouble. She broke the seals impatiently; but the result was disappointing. He had marked nothing—presumably he had copied out anything he wanted. She turned the pages, trying to piece some sort of solution together, but too tired to think
