"That one's almost as bad as him," jerking his thumb in the
direction of the landing.
Brisley smiled in a somewhat sickly manner.
"Red Kerry is a holy terror," he agreed, sotto voce, glancing aside to
where Coombes was checking his notes. "Look out! Here he comes."
"Now," cried Kerry, swinging into the room, "what's the game? Plotting
to defeat the ends of justice?"
He stood with hands thrust in reefer pockets, feet wide apart,
glancing fiercely from Brisley to Gunn, and from Gunn back again to
Brisley. Neither of the representatives of Spinker's Agency ventured
any remark, and:
"How long have you been watching Mrs. Monte Irvin?" demanded Kerry.
"Nearly a fortnight," replied Brisley.
"Got your evidence in writing?"
"Yes."
"Up to tonight?"
"Yes."
"Dictate to Sergeant Coombes."
He turned on his heel and crossed to the divan upon which his oilskin
overall was lying. Rapidly he removed his reefer and his waistcoat,
folded them, and placed them neatly beside his overall. He retained
his bowler at its jaunty angle.
A cud of presumably flavorless chewing-gum he deposited in a brass
bowl, and from a little packet which he had taken out of his jacket
pocket he drew a fresh piece, redolent of mint.
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