A Dead Liberty
“The two policemen saw them that evening after work at their dwelling place—a portion of a large old house in Calleford long ago divided up into flats. The owner lived on the ground floor and acted as concierge. Gerry Porteous, who answered the door, was a short-back-and-sides man and gave his occupation as trainee accountant.
“We come old, Inspector,” he said, “because it’s a long training.”
Sloan nodded. He himself was old enough now to find age relative.
Alan Marshall, it transpired, worked f...or the Calleford office of an extremely superior firm of land agents and surveyors, and Colin Jervis, the third man there, for a bank. All three were sturdily built and, if the scattered accoutrements of various games were anything to go by, were more devoted to sport than to politics.
Another pointer to their interest in things non-political was that the mention of the word “police” did not arouse noticeably strong reactions. Nobody shouted anything offensive—indeed, Alan Marshall actually pushed a chair forward for Sloan.MoreLess
“We come old, Inspector,” he said, “because it’s a long training.”
Sloan nodded. He himself was old enough now to find age relative.
Alan Marshall, it transpired, worked f...or the Calleford office of an extremely superior firm of land agents and surveyors, and Colin Jervis, the third man there, for a bank. All three were sturdily built and, if the scattered accoutrements of various games were anything to go by, were more devoted to sport than to politics.
Another pointer to their interest in things non-political was that the mention of the word “police” did not arouse noticeably strong reactions. Nobody shouted anything offensive—indeed, Alan Marshall actually pushed a chair forward for Sloan.MoreLess
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