“Oh, yes, it is, Mrs. Kerry. Doesn’t the very name of Bond Street turn your blood cold? I am simply shivering with fear!”
“As the wife of a Chief Inspector I am maybe more used to tragedies than yoursel’, madam. But it surely is a sair grim business. My husband is resting now. He was hard at work a’ the night. Nae doubt ye’ll be wishin’ tee see him privately?”
“Oh, if you please. I am so sorry to disturb him. I can imagine that he must be literally exhausted after spending a whole night among dreadful people.”
Mary Kerry stood up.
“If ye’ll excuse me for a moment I’ll awaken him,” she said. “Our household is sma’.”
“Oh, of course! I quite understand, Mrs. Kerry! So sorry. But so good of you.”
“Might I offer ye a glass o’ sherry an’ a biscuit?”
“I simply couldn’t dream of troubling you! Please don’t suggest such a thing. I feel covered with guilt already. Many thanks nevertheless.”
Mary Kerry withdrew, leaving Mollie alone. As soon as the door closed Mollie stood up and began to inspect the trophies in the cabinet. She was far too restless and excited to remain sitting down. She looked at the presentation clock on the mantelpiece and puzzled over the signatures engraved upon a large silver dish which commemorated the joy displayed by the Criminal Investigation Department upon the occasion of Kerry’s promotion to the post of Chief Inspector.
The door opened and Kerry came in. He had arisen and completed his toilet in several seconds less than five minutes. But his spotlessly neat attire would have survived inspection by the most lynx-eyed martinet in the Brigade of Guards. As he smiled at his visitor with fierce geniality, Mollie blushed like a young girl.