CHAPTER TWENTYBull settled himself as comfortably as possible in the corner of a third class carriage, and turned the business of Doaks still further over in his mind.
Doaks had got the wind up over something. That much was plain. No one, however, knew how deceptive such states could be better than Bull. In fact the more upset such a man as Doaks was, the clearer it usually was that he had committed not a major crime but some paltry misdemeanour—sold ham after hours, gone through one of the new red lights at Oxford-circus, something of that kind.
Still, the only motorcycle that had turned up in connection with anybody was connected with Doaks. That much was also plain.
Bull could not have told why he was on his way to Slough with a less depressed feeling about the Colnbrook Outrage than
