CHAPTER 8Mr. Pinkerton left the Underground and made his way reluctantly up the road towards the Bulls’ semi-detached villa. It hadn’t occurred to him until he had caught a glimpse of himself in the station in a window darkened to a mirror that of course none of the Bulls would for an instant recognize him now that he had grown his beard. He was not quite sure what they would say—at least what Margaret Bull and Crissie would say. Women had little feeling for such things. Mr. Pinkerton turned his overcoat collar up about his neck and pulled his brown bowler down, uncomfortably aware that they concealed nothing at all, and probably gave him an illicit appearance. He even found himself wishing he had stopped in at a shaving saloon on his way out.
“Dear, dear!” he thought. He had got to stick
