by“I never take divorce cases,” Duff said. “I’m a detective, not a peeping tom. There’s nothing interesting in a divorce case for anyone but a smut-hound. Take it to the Society for the Suppression of Vice.”
He said it jocularly, with his most engaging smile—the smile of a jovial parish priest on the face of a fat sceptic. There was a genial astuteness about that smile. It forgave cynically all the sins of the flesh. But the man on whom it beamed and twinkled did not yield to it. He continued to regard Duff with a frown wrinkling his high legal forehead and his mouth professionally severe.
“A divorce,” he protested, “is just what Dunbar doesn’t want. It’s to try to avoid a divorce that I’ve brought him to you. He needs help—of a kind that I can’t give him.”
youHe was a lean and keen and
