“From what I know of him, he went to intercept that fair girl—Warrenby's cook. He's probably standing her fruit sundaes in some tea-shop by this time,” replied the Inspector caustically.
“Whatever for?” demanded Carsethorn, staring.
“To get her to talk. She looked like the sort that shuts up like a clam the instant you start to ask a few straight questions, and this I will say for the Chief: to hear him getting people to tell him every last thing he wants to know, and a lot more besides, is a downright education!”
“I can see he's got a way with him,” agreed the Sergeant. “Sickening, none of those bullets matched! Seems to me we're back where we started.”
To this Harbottle vouchsafed no more than a grunt, and as he saw Mrs. Midgeholme bearing down upon them, the Sergeant effaced himself.
Mrs. Midgeholme, like Colonel Scales, wanted the Chief Inspector. Unlike the Colonel, she expressed her dissatisfaction at not finding him. She said that she particularly wished to drop a word in his ear.
“Well, madam, if you care to step across the road to the police-station, you can tell me whatever it is you wish the Chief Inspector to know, and I'll see he does know it,” offered Harbottle.
Mrs. Midgeholme betrayed an unflattering reluctance to accept him as a substitute. “I'd rather speak to the Chief Inspector,” she said.
“Just as you wish, madam,” said Harbottle, unmoved.
“When do you expect him back?” she asked.