"I couldn't bring the bottle—no room," he said, patting his shrinking pocket. "The tangle-foot all went down the pussyfoot's neck, so I left 'Robbie Burns' in the car. By the way, don't forget to ring up about that car. Old Mut-mut cut the cushions to ribbons; that bit of evidence might save my neck."
Finucane smiled pleasantly.
"You seem to have left a trail of coroner's inquests behind you," he said.
"All in the day's work," said Dick. "But not, thank God! in to-night's."
And when he had carried his audience past Todsmoor station,
"That's all," he said. "Can't I go home to bed now, superintendent?"
But the bearded stranger intervened.
"One of your clever young officers, I presume," he said to Finucane.
"I wish to God he were, Sir Gregory," replied the superintendent.
"A clever, and, I gather, somewhat high-handed amateur. The young lady, I hope, is safe."