"
He paused and laid a lean finger reflectively along his nose.
"Are you lunching anywhere, Okewood?" he 'said. Desmond shook his
head.
"Then you will lunch with me, eh? Right. Come along and we'll try
to find the way to Seven Kings."
The two men threaded the busy corridors to the lift which
deposited them at the main entrance. A few minutes later the
Chief was dexterously guiding his Vauxhall car through the
crowded traffic of the Strand, Desmond beside him on the front
seat.
Desmond was completely fogged in his mind. He couldn't see light
anywhere. He asked himself in vain what possible connection could
exist between this murder in an obscure quarter of London and the
man at his side who, he knew, held in his firm hands lines that
stretched to the uttermost ends of the earth? What kind of an
affair was this, seemingly so commonplace that could take the
Chief's attention from the hundred urgent matters of national
security that occupied him?
The Chief seemed absorbed in his driving and Desmond felt it
would be useless to attempt to draw him out. They wended their
way through the city and out into the squalid length of the Mile
End Road. Then the Chief began to talk.
"I hate driving through the City," he exclaimed, "but I always
think it's good for the nerves.
Pages:
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55