“Don't you know, sir?”
“I do not!” said John Steadman, looking him squarely in the face.
“Don't you guess?”
“Guessing,” said the barrister sententiously, “is a most unprofitable employment. One I never indulge in.”
“Ah, well!” said the inspector as the car stopped before the door of the inn. “I don't know, sir. And you don't guess. We will leave it at that. Well, landlord”—as that worthy came to the door rubbing his hands—“we are back upon your hands for tea. Mr. Hoyle was out.”
Chapter XI
Anthony Collyer got out of his bus at Lancaster Gate Tube. He looked round, but there was no sign of the figure he was hoping to see. He crossed the road and entered Kensington Gardens, stopping at the gate to buy some chocolates of the kind that Cecily particularly affected.
Near the little sweet-stall a small ragged figure was skulking. In his preoccupation Anthony did not even see him. Inside the Gardens he turned into a sheltered walk on the right flanked on either side by clumps of evergreens. There was a touch of chill in the wind, but the sun was shining brightly and through the short grass the daffodils were already adventurously poking their gay yellow heads. The urchin who had been lurking by the palings followed slowly. He got over on the grass in a leisurely fashion and ensconced himself out of sight in the shadow of the evergreens.
Anthony had time to glance at his watch more than once and even to grow a little impatient before Cecily appeared.
Then one glance was enough to show him that there was something amiss with the girl. There were big blue half-circles beneath her eyes, and the eyes themselves were dim and sunken. All her pretty colouring looked blurred as she gave her hand to Anthony, and he saw that it was trembling and felt that it was cold even through her glove. He held it in both of his and chafed it.