CHAPTER 9Sir Charles Debenham, Assistant Commissioner of New Scotland Yard, lean-jawed and bright-eyed, looked up from his desk and pushed aside a letter from the Foreign Office.
“Come in, Bull. Sit down. Everything go properly in Liverpool?”
“Yes, sir.”
Debenham leaned back in his chair and contemplated the burly form of Inspector J. Humphrey Bull with a slight twinkle in his grey eyes. He liked Bull, liked his plodding, matter-of-fact stolidity, deliberate, sound and dependable. He wondered suddenly how Bull, of all men in the Force, ever came to get mixed up with that extraordinary little Welsh chap. It was one of the few unsolved mysteries of the Yard.
“You’d think we’d have more trouble on a day like this than we seem to, sir,” Bull remarked. He balanced his tawny cinnamon brown b
