body through whose hands it had passed. And out of it Parslewe drew what seemed to be an ordinary sheet of notepaper. Whatever was written on it, he had read through in a minute. There were six pairs of eyes watching him, but you might as well have hoped to get news out of a stone wall as gain any information from his face; it was more inscrutable and impassive than I had ever seen it. He showed nothing—and suddenly he thrust paper and envelope into his pocket, sat down at the table, pulled out a cheque-book and a fountain-pen, and began to write. A moment later, he threw a cheque across to Bickerdale; then, without a word to him, or to Weech, or to Pawley, he strode out, motioning us to follow.
We made a little procession down town. Parslewe and the inspector walked first; I heard them talking about county business—the levying of a new rate, or some triviality of that sort. The plain-clothes man and I brought up the rear; we talked about the weather, and he told me that he had an allotment garden somewhere on the outskirts and wanted rain for what he had just planted.
