"Lummy, haven't you read this stuff in the brief-case?"
"Uh-huh. But I want to see what impressed you."
H.M, his spectacles pulled down on his broad nose, closed his eyes. An expression almost of serenity crossed his unmentionable face. Masters, deeply suspicious of being done in the eye again, studied him warily. At length the Chief Inspector cleared his throat
"Hurruml" he said. "Sir George Fleet? Came of a well-to-do family in the Midlands, with a cotton-business. Family wanted him to be pukka Army; so did he. Boarding-school when he was a tiny 'un, then Harrow, then Sandhurst Never finished Sandhurst; father died, and he had to take over the business.
"But he acted Army all the rest of his life, though he didn't join up in '14. Upright carriage, cropped moustache, dead keen on sport Roared at everybody. Wanted a knighthood; got it; wanted a baronetcy so his title wouldn't die with him; didn't get it"
Still H.M. did not open his eyes, though his look was now evil. He grunted.
"Yes. That's why it's so rummy that.. h'mf. What about his wife?"
"She lives just over the road, sir. You could go see her." "I meant twenty years ago."
"Bit of a beauty, I'd say." Masters considered. "You've seen her photograph. Yes, bit of a beauty in the fair-haired, blue-eyed way. Completely gone on her husband. Idolized him. Do anything he said, and like it"
"Wait a minute, son. Does that mean she was all coos and clucks in public, and in private wept and twisted him round her little finger?"