The sudden onset of the police brought up Mame with a round turn. She had read that the homely London bobby was the admiration of the civilised world. So far, she was bound to own, she liked him. He was human and kindly, simple and bland. But to have the wind put up in this manner by a brace of raw Scots was a bit too much. For the moment she felt quite flustered.
“Come again.” Her drawl was rather startled. “I don’t get you.”
“Why was ye giving him the glad eye?” Thus the Second Cop. And he seemed to add to Mame’s perplexity.
A moment’s thought was fuel for a growing indignation. Dating from Detective Addelsee’s bad break she was going to have a down on cops of all nationalities for the rest of her days. In spite of their air of fanaticism, which was more than a little dangerous, this pair of boobs was unmistakably “for it”—as the English say.
“I’m a very respectable girl.”
Both constables had a sneer for Mame’s respectability.
“Oh, run away and play,” she advised. “Run away to Mamma.”
It may have been Mame’s coolness, the growing truculence of her eyes, the scorn of her lips, or her choice of words, but the two zealots began sensibly to draw in their horns.
Personality, no doubt. For as soon as the owner of the new hat and fox could bring her guns into action the Force had an attack of pause.
“Beat it. Hop it.” The grey eyes flashed. “Don’t you dare get gay with me.”