“I’m going to strike while the iron’s hot,” he whispered. “You stay here and listen—I’m going in there to have a word with Major Hornby. Don’t move from this table till you see me again.”
Roper accepted the situation with an understanding nod, and Baddeley pushed the curtains to one side and stepped through.
“Good-evening, Major Hornby,” he said cordially. “May I sit down?”
Major Hornby looked up in amazement. Then his breeding got the better of his inclinations. He suffered himself to return the Inspector’s greeting. He then turned nonchalantly to the table and emptied his glass. This accomplished he rose as though to go. Baddeley raised his hand.
“I want a word with you, Major,” he spoke very quietly, and not without dignity, “and, believe me, I have come some miles to get it.”
Major Hornby shrugged his shoulders. Then he spoke very coldly. “You are imposing a distinct strain on my forbearance, Inspector Baddeley—I have already given you all the information I can. That should satisfy even your fund of curiosity.”
“All the information you can?” queried Baddeley, “or all the information you intend to give me?”
Hornby eyed him with strong disfavor. “Call it what you choose.”
Baddeley’s impatience mastered him. “Look here, Major,” he said, “I’m going to be perfectly frank with you, and I’m not going to beat about the bush.” Hornby raised his eyebrows.
“I’m afraid I’m at a loss to——”