CHAPTER THIRTEENBull saw Mrs. Royce and her son to their car, a Rolls of respectable years, with a withered-looking man in uniform standing by the door holding a gay plaid rug over his arm like a serviette. When the old lady was properly tucked in, and a stone put at her feet, and the chauffeur had gone for lavender salts and had then returned for a packet of peppermints left on Mrs. Royce’s dressing-table, closed the windows so that the car was hermetically sealed, got into the driver’s seat and waited patiently until Mrs. Royce was sure she was ready, the car moved off at a discreet lack of speed down the High-street towards Slough.
Bull drew a long breath of relief and lifted the knocker a second time. The butler answered almost at once. Bull knew he had been watching the street from b
