“How much?”
“The amount doesn’t concern you, Mr. Inspector, that I can see.”
The muscles of Baddeley’s face tightened. But despite the rebuff he stuck manfully to his guns.
“Did you pay him or ...”
“Don’t be insultin’ ...” Baddeley winced as though he had been stung.
“You refuse to answer my question?” he retorted.
“On the contrary—I have answered it. I told you not to be insultin’!”
The atmosphere had become electrical. Two or three times Sir Charles had half-risen from his seat in a deploring kind of manner—a venerable peacemaker. Anthony watched with keenest interest while Roper remained inscrutable, the perfect subordinate.
“I don’t appreciate your attitude, Major Hornby,” insisted the Inspector, “and perhaps it may not be extended to the consideration of this letter”; he held his hand out to Roper, who passed the letter across to his chief once again.
“Do you know that handwriting?” he asked in a curt voice.