“Here’s your tea, Joe.” The voice was sweetly polite.
“And who do you think the old party was, my gal? Only a Director of the Bank of England—that’s all. The rest of the Force is guying us proper. They want to know when we are going to lock up the Governor.”
“Joe, your tea!”
“We’ll never get over it, gal, not in my time. Scotchie, you are too ambitious. There isn’t scope for your abilities in the Metropolitan Force. Turn your attention to some other branch of the law. You ought to take chambers in the Temple, you ought, my lad.”
But in answer to the look in the eyes of Harriet, her brother-in-law checked the laugh that rose again to his lips. There was a strange anxiety upon her face, an anxiety that was now in some way communicated to him. It was clear from the glances they exchanged and the silence that ensued, that both were much embarrassed by the presence of Maclean.
However, after the young man had entered upon a struggle for words with which to meet this persiflage and they had refused to come forth, he suddenly noticed that the hands of the clock showed a quarter to six and he rose determinedly.
“Yes, it’s time you went on duty,” said the sardonic Kelly with an air of relief.
Constable Maclean, feeling much was at stake, made a great effort to achieve a dignified exit. He was an odd combination of the thick-skinned and the hypersensitive. At this moment the shattering wit of his peer of the X Division made him wish he had never been born, but he was too dour a fighter to take it lying down.
“Gude-nicht, Miss Sanderrson.” With one more grimace he offered a hand not indelicately.
“Good-night, Mr. Maclean.” The tone of studied kindness was a salve for his wounds. The effrontery of this young man did not call for pity. And yet it was his to receive it from the sterling heart of a true woman.