“Can I see some responsible official?” I asked.
He half turned, indicating a man who wore braid on his closely buttoned tunic, and sat at a desk in the corner.
“Inspector, sir,” he said. “Speak to him.”
He lifted a hinged door in the counter, and I went across to the man in question. He looked up as I drew near, and gave me a swift glance from top to toe. I had a vague sense of thankfulness that I was well dressed.
“Yes!” he said.
I got close to him. Possibly I looked mysterious—anyway, I felt so.
“You know Mr. James Parslewe of Kelpieshaw, near Wooler?” I suggested.
“Yes!”
“Mr. Parslewe is staying at the North Eastern Station Hotel. I am staying there with him. He asked me, in case of a certain eventuality——”
He interrupted me with an almost imperceptible smile—amused, I think, at my precision of language.