“Okay,” he said, gathering up his cash-box and books. “Make it snappy. I’ve had about enough of this place for today.”
As they drove through the heavy traffic, Parker glanced at the evening papers and gave out the more interesting items of news.
Ken scarcely listened.
Away from the bank now, and heading for home, his natural caution reasserted itself.
He would cut the lawn, he told himself, and he would spend the rest of the evening at home. He must have been nuts even to contemplate having a night out. If he slipped up, was seen or got himself into a mess, he might not only ruin his marriage, but he might end his career.
“Don’t bother to take me right home,” Parker said suddenly. “I want to stretch my legs. Take me to your place and I’ll walk the rest of the way.”
“I don’t mind taking you home.”
“I’ll walk. Maybe you’ll offer me a drink. I’m right out of whisky.”
Ken was tempted to say he was too. He wanted to be rid of Parker, but he checked the impulse and, now he was clear of the heavy traffic, he accelerated and in a few minutes pulled up outside the neat little bungalow in line with a number of similar bungalows.
“My word! Your lawn does need cutting,” Parker said as they got out of the car. “That’s going to be quite a job.”