'You're not going to tell me what you know, are you?'
'I'm not sure what I know,' said William. 'But I... think... Lord Vetinari did something remarkable not long before the crime.'
Vimes pulled out his own notebook and thumbed through it.
'He entered the palace by the stables some time before seven o'clock and dismissed the guard,' he said.
'He'd been out all night?'
Vimes shrugged. 'His lordship comes and goes. The guards don't ask him where and why. Have they been talking to you?'
William was ready for the question. He just didn't have an answer. But the palace guard, insofar as he'd met them, weren't men chosen for imagination or flair but for a kind of obstructive loyalty. They didn't sound like a potential Deep Bone.
'I don't think so,' he said.
'Oh, you don't think so?'
Hold on, hold on... Deep Bone claimed to know the dog Wuffles, and a dog ought to know if his master was acting oddly, dogs liked routine...
'I think it's very unusual for his lordship to be outside the palace at that time,' said William carefully. 'Not part of the... routine.'
'Nor is stabbing your clerk and trying to run off with a very heavy sack of cash,' said Vimes. 'Yes, we noticed that, too. We're not stupid. We only look stupid. Oh... and the guard said he smelled spirits on his lordship's breath.'
'Does he drink?'
'Not so's you'd notice.'
'He's got a drinks cabinet in his office,'
Vimes smiled. 'You noticed that? He likes other people to drink,'
'But all that might mean was that he was plucking up the courage to--' William began, and stopped. 'No, that's not Vetinari. He's not that sort,'
'No. He isn't,' said Vimes. He sat back. 'Perhaps you'd better... think again, Mr de Worde. Maybe... maybe... you can find someone to help you think better,'
Something in his manner suggested that the informal part of the discussion was well and truly over.
'Do you know much about Mr Scrope?' said William.
"Tuttle Scrope? Son of old Tuskin Scrope. President of the Guild of Cobblers and Leatherworkers for the past seven years,' said Vimes. 'Family man. Old-established shop in Wixon's Alley,'
That's all?'
'Mr de Worde, that's all the Watch knows about Mr Scrope. You understand? You wouldn't want to know about some of the people we know a lot about,'
'Ah,' William's brow wrinkled. 'But there's not a shoe shop in Wixon's Alley.'
'I never mentioned shoes,'
'In fact the only shop that is even, er, remotely connected with leather is--'
That's the one,' said Vimes.
'But that sells--'
'Comes under the heading of leatherwork,' said Vimes, picking up his truncheon.
'Well, yes... and rubber work, and... feathers... and whips... and... little jiggly things,' said William, blushing. 'But--'