"Very good, sir," Grant agreed automatically. "If I may, I'll telephone first to make sure that the Superintendent will be there."
And as he picked up the receiver, the looker-on in him said: Harmer was right. We do treat people variously. If the husband had been an insurance agent in Brixton, we wouldn't take it for granted that he could horn in on a Yard conference!
"Is Superintendent Barker in the Yard, do you know?…Oh…At half past? That's in about twenty minutes. Well, tell him that Inspector Grant has important information and wants a conference straightaway. Yes, the Commissioner, too, if he's there." He hung up.
"Thank you for helping us so greatly," he said, taking farewell of Erskine. "And by the way, if you unearth the brother, I should be glad to know."
And he and Champneis went down the dark, narrow stairs and out into the hot sunshine.
"Do you think," Champneis asked, pausing with one hand on the door of Grant's car, "there would be time for a drink, I feel the need of some stiffening. It's been a — a trying morning."
"Yes, certainly. It won't take us longer than ten minutes along the Embankment. Where would you like to go?"
"Well, my club is in Carlton House Terrace, but I don't want to meet people I know. The Savoy isn't much better —»
"There's a nice little pub up here," Grant said, and swung the car around. "Very quiet at this time. Cool, too."
As they turned the corner Grant caught sight of the news-sellers' posters. CLAY FUNERAL: UNPRECEDENTED SCENES. TEN WOMEN FAINT. LONDON'S FAREWELL TO CLAY. And (the Sentinel ) CLAY'S LAST AUDIENCE.