He had
scarcely slept all the week. It was a comfort to think that this vigil
was a useful one.
Severino slept fitfully, and Langholm had never a long stretch of
uninterrupted thought.
But before morning he had decided to give Steel a chance. It was a vague
decision, dependent on the chance that Steel gave him when they met, as
meet they must. Meanwhile Langholm had some cause for satisfaction with
the mere resolve; it defined the line that he took with a somewhat
absurd but equally startling visitor, who waited upon him early in the
forenoon, in the person of the Chief Constable of Northborough.
This worthy had heard of Langholm's quest, and desired to be informed of
what success, if any, he had met with up to the present. Langholm opened
his eyes.
"It's my own show," he protested.
"Would you say that if you had got the man? I doubt it would be our show
then!" wheezed the Chief Constable, who was enormously fat.
"It would be Scotland Yard's," admitted Langholm, "perhaps."
"Unless you got him up here," suggested the fat official. "In that case
you would naturally come to me."
Langholm met his eyes. They were very small and bright, as the eyes of
the obese often are, or as they seem by contrast with a large crass
face.
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