But Randall did not go out again, and when Hannasyde arrived at his flat at nine o'clock he was ushered immediately into the library, and found Randall there, lounging in the depths of a large armchair, with a coffee-tray on a low table beside him.
He was looking tired, and not in the least amiable. There was a crease between his black brows, and a grimness about his mouth which Hannasyde had never seen before. He dragged himself out of the chair when the Superintendent came in, and greeted him for once without the faint, sardonic smile which Hannasyde found so irritating.
“Come in, Superintendent,” he said. “Where is your satellite?”
“I'm alone,” replied Hannasyde.
Randall looked him over. “How fortunate! I wanted you alone,” he said.
“I thought perhaps you might,” said Hannasyde.
Randall continued to regard him for a moment, and then bent over the table and picked up the coffee-pot. “Did you?” he said. “Do you know, I begin to think rather well of your intelligence, Superintendent.”
“I have always thought well of yours, Mr Matthews, though I may not have approved the uses it has been put to,” retorted Hannasyde.
At that the smile did flicker for an instant in Randall's eyes. “Tut, tut, Superintendent.” He handed a fragile cup and saucer to Hannasyde. “Brandy, or Benedictine?”
“Thank you; brandy, please.”