“What a pity some of our spook merchants cannot come and make an incantation or beat tom-toms or something, and conjure up the scene for us. It would be most interesting.”
“What is more important than mere interest,” said Boyce, “is to bring the criminal to justice.”
“Oh, I suppose so, but it’s so dull when the problem is solved, especially if it turns out banal. It’s like a game of cricket, when you expect an exciting ending, and the other side all get out for about 20.”
“I am afraid I do not play cricket,” said Boyce, curtly.
Collins eyed him, “No, you wouldn’t,” he said, and made an enemy of him forthwith.
Chapter VII.
Valuable Information
Collins was punctual to the minute at Paddington. He had dressed himself up for the occasion, though he felt contempt for so doing. The express from Wilton-on-Sea was up to time.
From a first-class compartment Mabel Watson descended. Her face was white and calm, but she wore no veil. Collins walked towards the door and stopped. After the girl, a man descended from the carriage. He was tall and dressed in good taste, but had a weak looking face, with a wandering light moustache and straw-coloured hair.
His eyes were a cold blue. He was the sort of man that women ‘rave about.’ Collins took careful stock of the man, and then advanced with raised hat. The girl gave a smile of recognition, and shook hands.
“It is very good of you to come and meet me,” she said. “This is Mr. Eric Sanders, Mr. Collins.” The men shook hands and exchanged a look not too friendly. They were antipathetical.