Ruth Callice, brushing past him with apology, stepped into the room.
In her unobtrusive way Ruth was urban charm, urban fashion, invading a country pub. Her grey dress, the dull-twinkling ear-rings, set off-her dark-brown eyes and the full roundness of her neck. Ruth regarded everyone with smiling apology.
"Martin, dear," she said. "I've come to remind you about your promise for tonight"
Chapter 6
Some half an hour before Ruth's appearance, in the other bar-parlour with the clock containing its skeleton, Sir Henry Merrivale sat in a leather chair near the fireplace. Chief Inspector Masters stood opposite, behind a table on which lay a brief-case stuffed with documents.
And these two were carrying on in a way which would have sounded familiar to any friend of theirs.
"Now, now, Masters, keep your shirt on!"
Masters, large and burly, usually bland as a card-sharper, his grizzled hair brushed to hide an increasing bald-spot was buttoned up in a blue serge and had assumed his witness-box manner. This indicated that his words would have weight and dignity.
"It might interest you to know, sir, that I've got my shirt on."
"That's right Masters. Be like Me."