“Thank you! And after that?” He fingered his note-book.
“I dined at my club—then went to a show.”
“Thank—you—your club is—and the show was——?”
“The Isthmian—Piccadilly—and ‘On Approval’! Anything more, Mr. Inspector?”
“That will do for the present.” Goodall closed his note-book with a snap.
Peter’s eyes blazed at him angrily. “And if you’re interested in any more of my comings and goings—I may as well tell you that I’m just off down to Leyton to put in an hour or two at the Middlesex and Essex match.”
But Goodall remained imperturbable under the shaft of sarcasm. “Wish I could come with you! I like watching cricket—particularly Lancashire and Glamorganshire—they always seem to me to lack supporters so—it means such a terrible lot of traveling, you see, for their relations to go to watch them.” The Inspector grinned.
Peter’s ill-temper vanished instantaneously at Goodall’s sally. He held out his hand and shook the Inspector’s. Goodall took it—crossed to Linnell—and departed.
“I’ll bring Bathurst along, then, as arranged—if I’m lucky enough to find him.”
Linnell made a gesture of assent. “If he’ll come! Then we’ll get on to Assynton and tell them.”