"I happen to know," he said, passing a palm across his baldness, "that it took place at Much Wenlock." His design was to make her cry out, "Sold again! It took place at Weston-super-Mare," or, as the case might be. She did nothing of the sort.
"Come, come, Inspector," she said. "Enough of this verbal sword-play. That plain-clothes man—do you send him or don't you?"
The Inspector had now tried everything he knew. He raised his hand to his forehead, saluting his visitor's superior intelligence, scratched his right temple and said, "I see, Mrs. Dunkle, that I can't hope to get anything out of you that you don't want to give away. So be it. The officer you ask for shall be placed at your disposal. Where did you say you wanted him to meet you? Threadneedle Street?"