“said Beef expansively, “I don’t know what you gentlemen feel, but…” I hurriedly interrupted, for I knew what proposal he was about to make. “You’d better interview the chauffeur-gardener,” I said severely. He gave me a vicious look. “All right, have him in,” he sullenly conceded. Wilson was in his chauffeur’s uniform, and stepped into the room smartly. He was a good-looking fellow, tanned and well built. But his manner was a little too slick and ready for him to be, in my mind, completely trust...worthy. He seemed quite at his ease and more than ready to answer any question that could be put to him, as though he were almost enjoying the situation. “Sit down, Wilson,” said Peter Ferrers. “You can smoke if you like,” and he handed him a box of cigarettes. Wilson thanked him, lit one, and blew two columns of smoke through his nose like a picture of a dragon in a child’s book. Beef gaped at this performance, then seemed to pull himself together for his cross-examination.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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