He took up the card and chose his dishes with elaborate care. A half-bottle of Beaujolais completed his order.
“The ridiculous thing is that one has got to pay 7s. 6d. for a small bottle of wine that any respectable grocer will sell you for tenpence ha’-penny net.”
“You must pay for the magnificence,” said the other, quietly amused. Then, after the briefest pause, “What do you want?”
“Not you, Jimmy,” said the amiable Angel, “though my young friend, Boyden, Inspector of Police, and a Past Chief Templar to boot, will be looking for you shortly.”
Jimmy carefully chose a toothpick and stripped it of its tissue covering.
“Of course,” he said quietly, “I wasn’t in it—the killing, I mean. I was there.”
“I know all about that,” said Angel; “saw your foolish cigarettes. I didn’t think you had any hand in the killing. You are a property criminal, not a personal criminal.”
“By which I gather you convey the nice distinction as between crimes against property and crimes against the person,” said the other.
“Exactly.”
A pause.