Hamilton Beamish shuddered violently.
"Don't use that nauseating adjective! Are you trying to convey the idea that she is short and stout?"
"Oh no, sir, not stout. Just nice and plump. What I should describe as cuddly."
"Mullett," said Hamilton Beamish, "you will not, in my presence and while I have my strength, describe any of God's creatures as cuddly. Where you picked it up, I cannot say, but you have the most abhorrent vocabulary I have ever encountered.... What's the matter?"
The valet was looking past him with an expression of deep concern.
"Why are you making faces, Mullett?" Hamilton Beamish turned. "Ah, Garroway," he said, "there you are at last. You should have been here ten minutes ago."
A policeman had come out onto the roof.
2
The policeman touched his cap. He was a long, stringy policeman, who flowed out of his uniform at odd spots, as if Nature, setting out to make a constable, had had a good deal of material left over which it had not liked to throw away but hardly seemed able to fit neatly into the general scheme. He had large, knobby wrists of a geranium hue and just that extra four or five inches of neck which disqualify a man for high honours in a beauty competition. His eyes were mild and blue, and from certain angles he seemed all Adam's apple.
"I must apologise for being late, Mr. Beamish," he said. "I was detained at the station-house." He looked at Mullett uncertainly. "I think I have met this gentleman before?"