Dictator's Way by E.R. Punshon Page B

could never bring himself to believe that his tall form, well disciplined bearing more alert and lively than that of most soldiers, something even in his way of looking around as if all he saw might be of interest to him, were all a little apt to suggest police to those who had any reason to suppose that police might be interested in them.
    â€œHas there been any serving drinks after hours?” a comparatively new waiter whispered, and was told sharply by a senior colleague that that sort of thing was not done at the ‘Twin Wolves’.
    â€œHere Madame sees that all is correct,” added another, and, as an afterthought: “So does the patron. It may be there is a client who is wanted.”
    In the room above Bobby chose a corner whence he thought he could see without being seen, ordered a glass of sherry, and devoted himself to a study of the menu to see what was the cheapest dish available – cheapest being purely a matter of comparison, for up here the prices were a little devastating considered in relation to a detective-sergeant’s pocket. However, before he could decide he saw enter the room the tall, pale, thin faced girl, with the eager features and the vivid eyes, who the evening before had known how to use a hose so effectively. With her was a young man of middle height, but well and sturdily built, with strongly marked features, a bronzed complexion that told he was no city dweller, and the clear, far looking eyes of the sailor, eyes used to search far horizons.
    Almost immediately Olive caught sight of Bobby, though in his sheltered corner he had thought himself fairly safe from observation. Evidently she recognized him and he saw that she was saying something to her companion. Bobby rose to his feet. They were coming towards him. She said aloud:
    â€œI told you so, Peter, they are after me already.” To Bobby she said: “Is it about the murder? Well, I can prove I didn’t get there in time to murder anyone or even to go inside the house.”
    Her companion put his hand quickly on her arm. It was a warning gesture. Of that Bobby was certain. He said:
    â€œMadam, how did you know there had been a murder?”

CHAPTER 8
AT THE “TWIN WOLVES”
    Olive did not answer. She might not even have heard, so impassive, so unmoved did she seem. It was her companion who replied. He said swiftly:
    â€œMiss Farrar knew because I told her.”
    Bobby turned his attention to him, wondering whether this was the truth or just an effort to save the girl from awkward questioning.
    â€œIs that so?” he asked her sharply.
    â€œYou heard what Mr. Albert said,” she answered, and Bobby supposed it was not possible for her face to be more pale, her eyes more bright and glittering and feverish.
    She was not looking directly at him and yet he was aware of an impression that never had two people been more vividly aware of each other’s presence.
    â€œMy good chap, of course it’s so,” interposed the young man she had referred to as Mr. Albert. He was smiling a little, but his eyes were alert and watchful and in them showed no mirth at all. “I told Miss Farrar a minute or two ago and she said at once she was at the Manor and so she would probably be suspected, and then she said she had only just got there when you saw her, so she wouldn’t have had time.”
    â€œHow was it you knew?” Bobby asked.
    â€œOh, that’s simple,” Albert answered. “Let’s sit down and I’ll tell you. Sitting’s as cheap as standing. Have a Grey Lady, Olive?” To Bobby he explained: “One of their specials here – it’s a White Lady, only different. Their secret. What about you?”
    Bobby shook his head.
    â€œAh, you’ve a sherry,” Albert said. “O.K. Two Grey Ladies,” he said to the waiter. “Bring them to the table in the corner over there, by the window. Come along, or someone else will bag it