CHAPTER TWELVEMr. Pinkerton was waiting up for his host. He had spent the day thinking very hard, and he was ready with some rather startling conclusions. He was not prepared, however, for a haggard and very tired Inspector of the Criminal Investigation Department who barged in at half past eleven with no interest in anything except a hot bath and a soft bed. Mr. Pinkerton, disappointed, was by very nature mild, inoffensive and patient; he tucked his surmises away in his neat grey little mind, prepared to wait until Inspector Bull was in a receptive mood—probably at breakfast. But by the time Mr. Pinkerton heard the maid’s tap at the door and her “Hot water, sir,” Inspector Bull was well on his way to Windsor.
For a moment, it is true, the Inspector, stirring his steaming tea and expandin
