He dropped his voice a little, although it was none the less distinct.
"Number one--police-station, please .-- Hullo there! The inspector about ?--That you, Inspector ?--Sir Henry Cranston speaking.

Could you just step round ?--Good! Tell them to show you straight into the library.
You might just drop a hint to Mills about the lights, eh?
Thank you." He laid down the receiver and turned towards the fisherman.
"Well, Jimmy," he enquired, "all serene down in the village, eh ?" "So far as I've seen or heard, sir, there ain't been a word spoke as shouldn't be." "A lazy lot they are," Sir Henry observed.
"They don't look far beyond the end of their noses." "Maybe it's as well for us, sir, as they don't," was the cautious reply.
Sir Henry strolled to the further end of the room.
"Perhaps you are right, Jimmy," he admitted.
"That fellow Ben Oates seems to be the only one with ideas." "He don't keep sober long enough to give us any trouble," Dumble declared.

"He began asking me questions a few days ago, and I know he put Grice's lad on to find out which way we went last Saturday week, but that don't amount to anything.

He was dead drunk for three days afterwards." Sir Henry nodded.
"I'm not very frightened of Ben Oates, Jimmy," he confided, as he threw open the door of a large cabinet which stood against the further wall.
"No strangers about, eh ?" "Not a sign of one, sir." Sir Henry glanced towards the door and listened.
"Shall I just give the key a turn, sir ?" his visitor asked.
"I don't think it is necessary," Sir Henry replied.

"They've all gone up to change.