Thornton was not usually an impulsive man. He had recovered himself immediately upon his outburst and was once more calm and self-possessed.
"Don't be offended, Foyle," he said, more mildly. "I beg your pardon. It was just a bit startling at first. We've been associated too long for misunderstanding. I'll back you up, and there's not going to be any talk of resignations."
"Thank you, Sir Hilary," said the superintendent, entirely mollified. Going to the big safe he unlocked it and took something from the shelf which he handed to the Assistant Commissioner. The two bent over it.
It was nearly two hours before the two concluded
their task. Sir Hilary, his hands clasped behind his back, walked in deep thought back to his own room. Heldon Foyle put on his hat and coat and ordered a taxi.
"Brixton Prison," he said to the driver.
CHAPTER L
There are many people who pass Brixton Prison everyday who have no conception of its whereabouts. The main entrance is tucked away a hundred yards or so down an unobtrusive turning off Brixton Hill. Within a little gate-house inside the barred gates a principal warder sits on duty.