He could climb like a cat, as Tarling knew, and that part of his story put no great tax upon the detective's credulity.
He walked back to the front of the shop, passed the huge plate-glass windows, fringed now with shoppers with whom Lyne's Store had acquired a new and morbid interest, and through the big swinging doors on to the crowded floor.

Mr.Milburgh was in his office, said a shop-walker, and led the way.
Mr.Milburgh's office was much larger and less ornate than his late employer's.

He greeted Tarling effusively, and pushed an arm-chair forward and produced a box of cigars.
"We're in rather a turmoil and upset now, Mr.Tarling," he said in his ingratiating voice, with that set smile of his which never seemed to leave his face.

"The auditors--or rather I should say the accountants--have taken away all the books, and of course that imposes a terrible strain on me, Mr.Tarling.It means that we've got to organise a system of interim accounts, and you as a business man will understand just what that means." "You work pretty hard, Mr.Milburgh ?" said Tarling.
"Why, yes, sir," smiled Milburgh.

"I've always worked hard." "You were working pretty hard before Mr.Lyne was killed, were you not ?" asked Tarling.
"Yes----" hesitated Milburgh.