“All right. I’m glad everything’s satisfactory. She’s a nice girl really.”
“None better,” said Mr. Molloy generously.
“I still think she threw a stone at my top hat that day, but dash it,” said Mr. Braddock warmly, “let the dead past bury its dead, what?”
“Couldn’t do a wiser thing,” said Mr. Molloy.
He closed the door; and having breathed a little stertorously, mounted the stairs.
“Who was it?” called Dolly from the first landing.
“Some nut babbling about a girl.”
“Oh? Well, I’m having a hunt round in the best bedroom. You go on looking in the drawing-room.”
Soapy turned his steps towards the drawing-room, but he did not reach it. For as he was preparing to cross the threshold, the front doorbell rang.
It seemed to Soapy that he was being called upon to endure more than man was ever intended to bear. That, at least, was his view as he dragged his reluctant feet to the door. It was only when he opened it that he realised that he had underestimated the malevolence of fate. Standing on the top step was a policeman.