Mr Giles was the inspector with whom Mr Granger had just such an agreeable interview; the allusion was unfortunate.
"Mr Giles be----"
"William!"
"Then you shouldn't exasperate me; you only do it on purpose; as if I hadn't enough to put up with as it is. Don't stand there trying to put me in a bad temper, but just open that door and see who's knocking."
Possibly Mr Granger spoke in louder tones than he supposed, because before his helpmate could reach the door in question it was opened and someone put his head inside.
"All right, Mr Granger, I'm sure that good lady of yours has enough to do without bothering about opening doors; it's only yours very truly."
The newcomer spoke in a tone of voice which suggested complete confidence that he would be welcome; a confidence, however, which was by no means justified by the manner of his reception. The constable stared at him as if he would almost sooner have seen Inspector Giles again.
"You! What brings you here at this time of day? I thought you were in London."
"Ah, that's where you thought wrong. Mrs Granger, what's that you've got there--tea? I'm just about feeling equal to a sup of tea, if it's only what's left at the bottom of the pot."
The speaker was a tall, loose-limbed man with a red face, and hair just turning grey. From his appearance he might have been a grazier, or a farmer, or something to do with cattle; only it happened that he was Mr Thomas Nunn, the detective from London who had been specially detailed for duty in connection with the murder in Cooper's Spinney. As Mr Granger had learned to associate his presence with worries of more kinds than one, it was small wonder--especially in the frame of mind in which he then was--that he did not receive him with open arms. Mr Nunn seemed to notice nothing, not even the doubtful glances with which Mrs Granger looked into her teapot.