Armadale took the thrust with good humour.
“Give me time to think, Sir Clinton. You know I’ve only a slow mind, and perhaps this isn’t one of my bright days.”
Before Sir Clinton could retort the desk telephone rang and the Chief Constable lifted the receiver.
“Yes, I am . . . Thanks very much. I’ll take down the address if you’ll read it to me.”
He jotted something down on a sheet of paper.
“Thanks. Good-bye, Joan.”
He flicked the note over to Armadale.
“Would you mind seeing if we can get on to that house by ’phone, Inspector? Hunt up the London Directory for it.”
“It’s Cecil Chacewater’s address?” said Armadale, glancing at the slip.
“Yes. The man he’s staying with may be on the ’phone.”