Jim laughed, and limped into the dining-room. The Chief Inspector turned to Grant. "Go and pull Poulton in, Sandy! No charge: take him along to the Yard, to answer a few questions! I've got quite enough on him to warrant that. Treat him kindly, and let him kick his heels there till I come. That won't hurt him!"
Chapter Fifteen
In the library, Beulah, looking up defensively when the door opened, flew into young Mr.. Harte's arms. "Timothy! Oh God, what am I going to do?"
Mr.. Harte, trained by circumstance to act coolly in emergency, promptly cast a damper on what he correctly diagnosed to be rising hysteria. "Hallo, ducky!" he said, kissing his betrothed with great affection. "Don't knock me over! Have you got any face-powder in your bag?"
"Yes, of course, but -"
"Well, put some on your nose!" begged Mr.. Harte. "Begin as you mean to go on! What a heedless wench you are! Don't you know that the whole art of keeping a young husband happy is always to appear dainty in his eyes? That singularly repulsive adjective, let me inform you, embraces everything from face-powder to -"
"Thanks, I can fill in the rest for myself!" interrupted Beulah, slightly revived by this bracing treatment. "Don't laugh at me! I've never been in such a jam in my life! I was here, Timothy! I had a row with her this morning, which Thrimby overheard; and I had no business to be here!"
"Clearly booked for the scaffold. Calm yourself, my love!"
She drew herself out of his hold. "There's worse. I've never told you. I meant - but it's no use! If I don't tell you, that policeman will! You'd better hear it from me!"
"Hold all your horses!" commanded Mr.. Harte. "I don't deny that I should like to know exactly what is your grim past, but if you're labouring under the delusion that Hemingway will disclose some hideous secret to me, or to any other layman, rid yourself of it! He won't."